


Halcyon Gold

by Hikaru9Yume



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blood, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Insecurity, M/M, Magic Loss, POV Alec Lightwood, POV Magnus Bane, Recovery, Sadness, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-01-29 22:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12640386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hikaru9Yume/pseuds/Hikaru9Yume
Summary: Magnus loses his magic and gets injured. He meets Alec, who helps him recover. Slow burn; canon divergent."...The energy inside him has vanished and there is a fierce and agonizing hole marring his chest, where his heart should be.His magic is gone."





	1. Emptiness in Copper

**Author's Note:**

> The idea didn't leave my mind so here it is! The chapters will get longer (and angstier, sorry. But there's always some comfort and fluff here and there <3).  
> It's very similar to the other fic I wrote so if you liked that, you should enjoy this one as well. Tell me what you think!

It’s empty.

He watches, dazed, his hands shaking, his fingers clenching and unclenching as if trying to catch what they lost.

It’s empty. Everything inside him is.

Something is wrong.

His breathing is coming out strangled, his lungs not working properly. His body is screaming that something is very wrong. He looks up, taking in the whole scene: there are dead people all around him. The alley is dark, tainted with a sinister blackness surrounding everything. There, on his right, a Shadowhunter is sitting against the wall of the alley. He is sure the man will move, tilting his head towards him instead of leaving it facing the cold street, chin almost on his chest. He will stand up and crouch near him, help him stand up since it seems that he has no strength left in his legs. He is so sure. But the man can’t. He’s dead. There is a pool of blood all around him, shimmering eerily under the faint light of the stars.

There is a dead werewolf, some meters away, lying face down, the first one who fell under the expected but savage attack by the demons.

Magnus had been summoned hours before to the New York Institute. The Clave was asking for help: there was a dangerous demonic activity in the city. They needed to intervene, carefully, strongly, and the help of the Downworlders was crucial. He couldn’t believe those words were uttered to him and the other leaders. He couldn’t believe someone in the New York Institute had managed to actually talk to the Clave about a collaboration. He couldn’t believe it at all.

But here he is, surrounded by dead and injured Shadowhunters, a hurt wolf who is painfully going back to her human form, and an angry vampire promising revenge for his fallen companion.

No one is paying attention to him. Because the whole havoc and destruction is his fault.

He puts his open hands on the iced concrete, still kneeling, trying to anchor his body. His breathing is labored, his limbs shaking. Is it the coldness? Is it because something is missing?

There is an emptiness inside him.

He had managed to kill the Greater Demon, but too late. The demons had a clear agenda: they had stolen something. One Greater Demon managed to take that something into Edom, disappearing uncannily in the exact moment they found them. The other stayed behind, facing them.

And they fought.

It was a hard and ferocious battle. The Greater Demon was strong and there were countless demons helping him. Magnus’s group, on the other hand, was too small. Two werewolves, two vampires, two Shadowhunters and himself. Too few. They were getting slaughtered. So he decided to give in, to call all of his magic, even the darkest one, that part he always hid because it reminded him too much of his demonic heritage, the one he learned to avoid.

And the Greater Demon answered.

Magnus comes back to reality, watching the grey of the street under him. There is a colour kissing it. It’s a peculiar shade: a hint of matt golden is mixed with a warm brown, clawed by a rich red. Copper. His fingers curve, his fists taking form.

His blood.

Fast, round, and heavy drops of his blood are falling onto the ground, melting together. He has no strength to change his position, his arms shuddering too much, his mind too confused while it tries to focus on what happened.

His lips part slightly, a foreign liquid entering his mouth. His tongue tastes something bitter and strong.

Copper again. His blood.

He feels a single line of it escape his nostril, glide down, brush his lips, and continue its course on his chin.

His fight with the Demon was a blur. But he remembers a sharp pain.

He hears a strangled sound. It’s him.

He almost loses his balance when his right hand slowly leaves the solid surface under it, and raises towards his chest. His fingers are trembling dangerously while searching for the left side of his body, until they find his heart. Another sharp intake escapes his lips when his hand makes a light contact with his skin. He slightly dips his face, his fingers coming away and leave his battered shirt.

There is something gleaming on them. He frowns, not understanding. What was on his chest? His golden eyes, glamour forgotten, roam restlessly, drinking in all of his stained fingers, his palm tarnished as well, red and angry slashes on his wrists.

It can’t be.

It can’t be blood.

 

He should be dead. But he isn’t.

The shiver in his hand seems to suddenly intensify, his eyes unfocusing, the grey colour of the concrete and the coppery red of his blood blurring dangerously.

He should be dead, because he had to get closer to the Greater Demon to kill him, and it was a suicide mission. But he did it nonetheless. He attacked and managed to slice through the Demon’s body with his own magic. However, his enemy did the same.

He was choking. Someone was drowning him. He felt his life energy being pulled, absorbed by something, _someone_. He could do nothing but raise his head, open his mouth in a silent scream toward the dark, endless firmament. His voice was gone, his throat closed; black lines formed all over his limbs, his energy running through him, eating his skin, drinking his blood, rushing toward his heart. From there, they escaped, withdrawing from his body, inhaled by the Demon’s hand, who, after seconds that seemed to last hours, disappeared, leaving a menacing shadowy dust behind. It disappeared right after, merging with the soft breeze of the night. The demons followed immediately, suddenly transforming into shapeless smoke while still engaged in the battle.

He can still feel his heartbeat change, going from a frantic and fearful thudding to a slow and languid rhythm, as if it wanted to escape his body as well.

He can feel it even now. His heart is too slow. There are black dots creeping into his vision, eating the unfocused colours.

He needs to breathe and stand. He needs to check for the dead and heal the injured. He needs to report. He needs to understand.

But he can’t.

Because the energy inside him has vanished and there is a fierce and agonizing hole marring his chest, where his heart should be.

His magic is gone.

 

***

 

He is still kneeling on the cold ground, his back straight now, watching the scene in front of him. His mind is disoriented, as if a coppery emptiness has scattered his useless thoughts.

The injured Shadowhunter called for backup during the battle, as soon as she had noticed they were overpowered. The defeat of the Greater Demon managed to save them. Nonetheless, some Shadowhunters appeared all of a sudden, and seemed stunned while listening to their soldier’s report.

He doesn’t hear the words she conveys. He doesn’t even know if they saw him. He is staring at them, unseeing, his body detached, until someone leaves the last wounded’s side, and runs towards him.

Catarina.

He follows her movement, not daring to change position, his empty, open hands resting on his bent knees. She’s crouching over him, a hand on his healthy shoulder.

“Magnus.”

He looks at her worried eyes, not sensing her hand hovering over his heart. He catches, however, the colour of her reassuring magic, sprouting from her fingers, embracing his wounded chest.

He feels nothing.

“Is everything alright?” A foreign, male voice.

There is someone else kneeling next to Catarina: a tall, lean man. The first thing Magnus notices about him is a shock of hazel: his eyes are looking straight at his own in fierce concentration. He knows his glamour is beyond reach now and that the gold is in full exposure for anyone to see.

He waits for the usual contempt he catches on Shadowhunters’ features, judging him, blaming him for his nature, cursing him for his existence. He clenches his jaw tightly, a muscle jumping, capturing the man’s attention. His eyes snap immediately back towards his, as if drawn by a powerful force.

“I can’t heal him. Something is wrong.”

Catarina’s voice shatters the spell they seemed to be under, both of them enthralled by each other’s eyes. He waits, his brow furrowing, but there’s no shadowed disgust in the Shadowhunter’s expression, just a bright intelligence behind those unique eyes, and a sudden curiosity.

“Let’s transfer everyone to the Institute, okay? We’ll be safer there.” The man easily straightens while answering to Magnus’s friend. Catarina is already calling the portal, her concentration mixing with a jarring worry.

His gaze alternates between the two of them, until it rests on the man once again. He is standing but he’s lingering near him. An arm slowly raises, a hand stopping right in front of Magnus.

“Let’s go?”

He watches, mesmerized, the help he has been offered.

He doesn’t know if what he feels inside is authentic, whether the void will vanish or eat him completely. He doesn’t know. He can’t feel anything.

Thus, he does the only thing he can do at the moment: he lifts his unsteady hand, his fingers finding the stronger ones. The other man grasps them firmly, anchoring him.

He needs help.


	2. Change in Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But now he is different. He is different from the man he chose to be all those years before. He is different from the person he learned to be, the person he accepted to be. The freedom of deciding who he wants to be has been taken from him.
> 
> And now, he feels broken."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Magnus dwells on the importance of magic in his life and he meets Alec again. Enjoy!

Something inside him has died.

Whether it’s his heart, his magic, or his demonic essence, he doesn’t know. He is sure, however, that something inside him has vanished, dissolved the night before.

There is an unfamiliar sensation in the pit of his stomach: it’s an unnerving and restless feeling. It’s alive and eating him from the inside.

Anxiety.

It feels like a black mist spreading slowly, lazily and dangerously through his body. It feels like it’s crawling, inch by inch, reaching for his heart, hungry for his positive thoughts, extinguishing the flickering gleam of hope, of things he loves and he is good at.

It’s frightening. The powerlessness he feels is terrifying. He can’t stop the blackness from unfurling inside him; he tried and failed. He can only _be_ , and follow, anxiously, how everything within him is dying.

His heart is surrounded too: there is a dark halo around it, seeping through his skin and making it cry with tears of blood. And his chest hurts as a consequence, claws forming and reforming endlessly, reminding him of that terrible moment when the Greater Demon managed to take a hold of his magic.

 

He hasn’t been able to sleep since that fateful night.

After the Shadowhunters had found them, they used Catarina’s portal to enter the New York Institute. There, he discovered that the soldier with hazel eyes was their leader: Alec Lightwood, the Head of the Institute. He was the one who had talked to the Clave about a collaboration between the Nephilim and the Downworlders, the one who was pushing for them to be equals, for them to stand and fight together.

Magnus walked through the Institute, Catarina and Alec by his side. He felt dazed and insecure for the first time in centuries, his skin suddenly feeling foreign.

Safe behind the warded walls, Catarina tried to heal him once again under Alec’s unfathomable expression, without success. His injury kept on bleeding. There, he confessed that something inside him had broken during the fight. There, he whispered that his magic was gone.

He remembers both of their expressions.

Catarina stilled, watching his injury with an angry frown; her gaze was fierce, her thoughts chasing one another to find a solution without any further delay.

Alec – Alexander – hadn’t changed position. He was still there, leaning against the wall of the room, his arms crossed. Something was changing, however, in his expression, and Magnus noticed an unknown glimmer in the man’s eyes: guilt.

The mission had been a failure. Three people died, others were injured, even if now safe. Magnus, however, was in a different situation and he was sure the Shadowhunter was feeling responsible for what had happened. So Magnus had looked back at him, and simply stated that nothing, _nothing_ , that had occurred that night, from the attack, the deaths, to his injury, was Alexander’s fault.

He received no voiced answer, but he caught how the other man’s expression changed once again while his fingers were curling into fists: regret. His brilliant eyes kept on staring at him, drinking in everything about his face: his lips, his jaw, his cheeks, the colour of his eyes. They were studying him, wondering, deciding perhaps whether Magnus was really a good person or not, whether he could be trusted or not.

Whatever the man decided, he doesn’t know, but it had to be something positive. Because Alexander stopped his roaming gaze and looked him straight in the eye. “I’ll fix it”, he said, bluntly, firmly, with such a force that Magnus could only stare back, his fingers flexing as if to grab the Shadowhunter’s arm and tell him to stop, to forget it, that he can take care of himself. But he couldn’t, he didn’t even have the time: Alec had turned his back on him and was opening the door, exiting the room.

“He’s a good man.” He felt a squeeze on his uninjured shoulder, Catarina’s soft voice waking him up once again from the spell that he seems to fall into every time Alexander talks to him.

After that, he went back home using his friend’s portal once more.

He tried to ignore the terrifying sensation that was beginning to grow in his stomach by going through his usual habits: showering, choosing a comfortable outfit for the night, eating something.

But there, in his kitchen, while looking at the food he couldn’t eat, his mouth tasting ashes, his stomach refusing anything, it hit him. He had stopped what he was doing, turned, and went straight for his books.

He spent the night reading and searching, analyzing and translating, discovering and backtracking.

Nothing.

Nothing after two restless nights and two autumn days, the latter full of promises and expectation whispered by the hopeful shimmering of the light entering his home. The fear scattered away, chased by the rays of the sun.

He didn’t sleep. He didn’t rest. He barely ate.

Nothing.

There is nothing.

 

***

 

The third troubled night has ended. The first hours of the morning are passing slowly, heavy with silence. There is only a soft light coming from the lamp on the table in his living room. He didn’t turn on the other lights. There was no need.

Magnus is standing, his exhausted body leaning against the solid wood of the table. His arms are limp on his sides, his chest burning viciously, the claw marks over his heart savaging his skin constantly, reminding him that he’s different.

It hit him, days before.

His magic never defined him. Never. Not in the positive nor the negative implications of its existence.

He is aware that his magic was the physical manifestation of his demonic heritage. That it existed, it lived and breathed through him, taking a tangible form for anyone to see. And the people who saw it could judge him for it: they may think that he’s a monster, the child of an aberrant union; that he will use his power for hateful purposes, for havoc and destruction. They may blame him for having it, for being able to use it while they couldn’t, for being different and for having the potential of being simply more powerful. They could be afraid of him, not knowing what he uses it for. However, there may be people who don’t see his magic as the fruit of corruption.

Magnus himself is one of those.

He knows he used to think, when he was a child with no family and hope, that his magic was evil, because _he_ was evil. But he learned; people taught him; he understood.

And he had decided to use the ability he had for himself, and for what and who he judged to be worth saving. He had promised himself he wouldn’t let anyone go through what he had. No one.

His magic was what he wanted it to be. It simply was. It existed inside him, in that same place where he can now feel the black mist eating his soul. He tried to be reasonable while using it, because he wanted to show the world that he wasn’t defined by what everyone thought of him, of warlocks, of halflings, of people who are merely different. He, and only he, decides who he is and who he wants to be.

So he used his magic for good.

He healed with it, he fought with it, he worked with it. Yes, he killed with it, but always to protect, always to save innocent lives.

He never hated his magic. He never even thought about a life without his magic. He couldn’t change what he was. And wouldn’t change it even if he could.

But now he is different. He is different from the man he chose to be all those years before. He is different from the person he learned to be, the person he accepted to be. The freedom of deciding who he wants to be has been taken from him.

And now, he feels broken.

 

***

 

His world is grey. He knows the open doors of his balcony are letting the soft and cool breeze of the early morning in, the usually alluring colours of the sunset greeting him, calling him, telling him to walk, step out on the balcony, close his eyes and let the sun kiss his eyelids.

His world, however, is grey. It’s a confusing and dazing world, full of questions, uncertainty and self-doubts. It’s a world between the menacing black, which manages to hide his life from him, and a hopeful white, crafted by endless heartache and lonely memories. It’s a world that keeps shifting under his feet, that he can’t grasp and stop, that he simply can’t understand.

He tried the whole night, looking blankly at the old and new books spread everywhere in his apartment, offering him no resolution. He tried while wandering restlessly through his rooms, touching his favourite objects lightly, observing the comforting colours, as if saying goodbye, as if they now belong to someone else.

His aimless walk takes him back into the living room. There is a mirror in front of him. The long, spotless mirror that he uses to check his clothes one last time before going out.

There is a stranger looking back at him.

He is wearing his face. He has the same features, but some things are different: the other man’s hair is tousled, falling on his forehead; his golden eyes are veiled with a crystal sadness, fatigue clouding the usual shimmer; his skin is sickly pale, no colour touching his cheeks; small, almost invisible drops of sweat are marring his temples. A white bandage is covering part of his chest, showing through his blue robe. On it, there are spots of a dark colour, where his heart is. Blood.

He tears his eyes away from the foreign reflection, his gaze seeking for something, _anything_ , to focus on and forget the dimness and emptiness he saw in those eyes.

He frowns when he sees the screen of his phone, forgotten on the table on an open book, lighting up regularly, his ringtone silent. He walks slowly towards it and notices a number showing on the screen. There is no name; it’s not saved and he doesn’t recognize it.

He grabs the phone and accepts the call, on alert. Who can it be?

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Magnus? H-Hi. It’s Alec. I-I asked Catarina for your number. I... hope that’s okay?”

Magnus’s back straightens, his mind finally tearing itself away from hateful and hopeless thoughts when it hears the man’s voice.

“Hey. Of course it is.” He tries to convey a firm and sure tone while his fingers clutch the phone forcefully. “Is everything alright?”

“Ah, well, yes. But... I need your help.”

He stares at the wall in front of him, unseeing and bewildered, as he listens to the Head of the New York Institute asking him to be part of a special Shadowhunter and Downworlder cabinet. It would involve all the leaders, who were invited to the Institute for weekly meetings with the precise aim to discuss decisions, to ask questions, to raise concerns and mention anything that needs to be discussed.

He should answer, he should say something, but he wastes precious seconds trying to control his confused mind. Why is Alexander asking him? He knows Magnus has no magic anymore: he is a warlock just in name, and he will probably lose his position as High Warlock soon.

Why is he asking him?

“I...”

Alexander must have perceived his hesitation, because he doesn’t let him explain. “Please. We’ll fix what happened to you, I promise. Catarina and I are working on it. You’re still the best warlock in town. And I only want the best.”

His body shudders lightly, as if waking through the hopeful words spoken to him. He clenches is jaw tightly, his eyes closing.

Someone is not judging him for his weakness. Someone is not defining him for his magic, or lack of. Someone out there is still waiting for him to be the person he wants to be.

Magnus exhales slowly, opening his eyes. This time, he notices the reassuring ray of the light caressing his home.

“I’ll be there.”

 

***

 

“…and we would like to be represented by someone else. You should know by now that Magnus Bane is no warlock anymore: the Seelies say his magic has vanished. We can’t be led by someone who is not like us.”

His throat closes dangerously when he hears those words; his feet stop, his limbs freezing. He blinks several times, his mind registering the conversation.

There are two people in the room on his right; the door left slightly ajar, the men’s voices barely audible in the corridor of the Institute, but still intelligible. He sees nothing but the outline of a window giving access to a balcony.

“You know that even though they can’t lie, Seelies always find a way to twist the truth they seem to know, right?” He recognizes that voice: Alec. “It means that whatever they told you, they think it’s true but it may be different from reality. Why are you still trusting them after what happened with Valentine?”

He understands now why he’s the Head of the Institute. His voice is calm, his arguments reasonable even if he didn’t confirm nor deny the insinuation to be true. He’s stalling, saving time, hoping to solve the issue before anyone discovers something is wrong.

He envies Alexander’s calm and composure. He envies his ability to reason and to be positive. Because right now, the only thing that Magnus wants to do is crawl away, turn his back on everything and return to his apartment.

Those words are like a slap to his face. They hurt, even more than the injury on his chest, because they come from the people he loves the most.

His family hates him. His children, those he always wanted to protect, those he always tried to treat with respect and love, are turning on him.

It takes an enormous effort to prevent his shaky legs from giving in and letting his body slide down onto the floor, but he can’t stop his eyes from closing. He’s so tired.

They think he’s not worthy of being their leader. They think he’s too weak. And he is, isn’t he? That is exactly what hit him yesterday night: he’s too weak to protect, too weak to fight, too weak to heal. They are right. Someone else should be their leader.

He should go. He should turn around, gather his things and go away. He could seek for help somewhere, search for older books in Europe and in Ragnor’s house. Yes, he should go. Live where no one would be able to find him, so that he can understand what and who he is, and whether he will die as a human being or continue to live as an outcast warlock.

He should. But something is stopping him.

“...shamed. He led you and protected you for many years and at the first obstacle you all turn your back on him? Seelies’ truth is twisted and used for hidden purposes, never forget that.”

His eyes snap open while his right hand shoots out suddenly, reaching for the wall next to him. He leans heavily against it, needing support. He curls his fingers into a fist, trying to calm the fast beating of his wounded heart.

A Shadowhunter is defending him. And not just anyone: the Lightwoods’ son, the Head of the Institute. Is he doing it because he still feels guilty, or does he really believe in what he is saying? Is he really a gentle soul, his behaviour mirroring those kind and intelligent eyes, or is he like everybody else, just waiting for the right moment to ask something from him, a favour, a demand, a life debt? He doesn’t know. Magnus’s instincts are telling him that this man is not false, that his voice speaks the truth, that his tone is warm and firm because he believes in his own words. Magnus’s mind, however, is screaming that he should be careful, he should walk away, leave everyone behind, and avoid the disappointment and sadness that he will inevitably feel.

He doesn’t want to hear the warlock’s answer. He doesn’t even want to know who is talking with Alexander. Whatever they will decide to do, Alec asked him to come as the representative of his people. If this will be his first and last meeting, so be it. At least he fulfilled the Shadowhunter’s request, and he hopes that in doing so, he will placate his unrequired guilt.

He lets out a long sigh and straightens slowly. His head raises once again, his eyes fierce, masking any other feeling, showing only confidence. He hides his grief, his betrayal, and his regret far deep inside him, concealed. No one has to know. No one will know. No one will ask, anyway.

 

***

 

He is in front of him. There is an empty seat on the far left where the representative of the Seelies should have sat. Raphael and Lucian are on his respective sides, the latter sitting next to Alexander, all three talking freely, not concerned at all by the absence of the Seelies in the cabinet. They weren’t invited – or, rather, the invitation was revoked – after what happened with Valentine: everyone knew about their secret accord.

Yes, Alexander is sitting in front of him, a blessed position. And although Magnus should take part in the discussion involving a concern between wolves and vampires, he can’t help but observe the Shadowhunter, who is heavenly unaware of his scrutinizing gaze. Alexander is completely focused on the other two, alternatively looking at and talking to them.

He is glad for this meeting. The moment the other three stepped in, his mind had something else to focus on instead of the conversation he overheard and his negative thoughts.

What he didn’t expect, however, was to be so enthralled by Alexander Lightwood. When he entered the room, his eyes found him immediately, searching for any sign of a reaction to the conversation with that warlock. There was nothing but welcome and, maybe, a hint of nervousness because of this new experience.

Now it’s really easy to lose himself while observing the man. Magnus leans back against the chair, his position comfortable, the view a feast for his eyes.

There is an inner elegance in Alexander’s movements. They are never exaggerated nor studied; they seem natural and well mannered, shaped by a lifetime of exercises, fighting and discipline. He’s a tall man, one that should draw all the attention from others. Magnus has the impression, however, that he doesn’t want to be the centre of anyone’s attention, so his posture is slightly off, his shoulders hunching forward, as if he wants to appear smaller, less imposing, less scary.

Magnus’s lazy gaze traces the blue and green lines of the veins on Alec’s wrists and arms; they disappear under the softness of his shirt, the sleeves slightly rolled up.

Black is a good colour on him. It matches his hair perfectly, the brilliance mirroring the light around them. He didn’t button his shirt completely, and a hint of skin is drawing Magnus’s attention, there, where his clavicle is. He continues his observation: he traces traces the lines of the black rune caressing his neck, as well as the hard line of his jaw, the fullness of his bottom lip, and the perfection of his cheekbones. He loses himself in the colour of those eyes; he feels like he is analyzing a flawless painting, trying to discern all the colours and the shadows to capture the meaning of the painter’s art. He knows people are usually unnerved by the golden of his own eyes, yet he can’t help but notice how Alexander’s are as different and peculiar.

It’s difficult to compare the green he sees to anything else in the world. It’s the green of dreamy forests; the one that makes leaves shimmer in the summer sun; the one that makes you feel warm everywhere you are, even if it’s winter, even if you’re cold, even if you feel nothing. He has a similar impression with the brown shadowing the green: there is a heat seeping through it, touching and melting everything as if it holds magical powers. The shade around the pupil is a rich brown that reminds him of amber, precious and beautiful; there is another shade embracing the amber, a taint more similar to the sand kissed by the scorching sun.

He could look at them forever. They keep his thoughts at bay, distracting him with charm and delicacy.

He knows his unexpected fascination with Alexander is not happening at a proper time in both of their lives, but he stopped denying his attraction towards other people a long time ago. He won’t lie to himself. He won’t stop feeling what is inside him because others tells him to, too scared to understand, too closed off to feel the same.

Still. It’s a shame they met in such a dire situation.

“Magnus, what do you think?” The regular turning of Alec’s face stops when he suddenly stares at him, his expression serene and alive, the discussion probably enjoyable and stimulating.

The words are on the tip of Magnus’s tongue.

_I think you are beautiful._

_I think it was really nice to meet you and I would like to get the chance to know you._

_You seem… sympathetic. Would you like to go out for a drink some time?_

_Are you kind to me only because you feel guilty or are you really a pure soul who cares for others?_

Instead, Magnus smiles softly at him, his right arm rising from the table, his chin finding his hand to rest on while he stares back. His heart quickens when he notices how Alexander’s back straightens suddenly, his arm stiff in front of him, and how his eyes widen slightly. Then he starts to blink fast, as if the sunlight had hit him suddenly and he was blinded for some seconds. There is also a lovely shade of red spreading from his graceful neck to his cheeks, the blush making him even more beautiful.

Shouldn’t Alexander be used to men’s and women’s attention? Shouldn’t he know how handsome he is and how clever and gentle he seems? He should. But maybe he is not aware of his charm. Well, there surely is one positive, unexpected side of the whole situation he has fallen in, at last: he met Alexander Lightwood. And he will probably be the first one to tell him how lovely he is.

“I think that I have tremendous respect for the Head of the Institute and his progressive thinking. You are doing a great job, and the fact that we are all here _talking_ confirms it.”

He can’t help but smile even more when he catches Raphael’s eyebrow raising, Lucian’s nodding and Alexander’s surprise colouring his features even more, his mouth opening in astonishment and then closing. His eyes are still blinking fast while looking at his golden ones, as if trying to wake up from a dream.

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out.” He forces his gaze away from Alec when another Shadowhunter enters the room, a tall, blond and athletic soldier. He stops next to his leader and leans slightly in, whispering something in his ear. Magnus hides his smile behind his fingers while he notices how Alexander’s limbs slightly stiffen again, as if caught off guard by the other man and he was being interrupted in a very intense moment. His amusement, however, slowly dies inside him as Alec’s expression turns darker.

In the end, Alexander puts his open hands on the table, pushes his chair back and stands up.

“I’m sorry we didn’t finish our discussion but something happened. Next week, same day, same hour, okay?”

He looks at them for their nods of confirmation and then turns his back hurriedly, leaving with the other Shadowhunter.

Magnus follows his exit, knowing his evil, injured heart is playing games with him once again. He feels emotions he shouldn’t, things he thought he forgot, buried by many heartbreaks and deaths.

Yet, here he is, staring blankly at the spot where Alexander has disappeared while the other two leaders are standing up and putting their coats on, ready to leave.

Longing. That is what he feels the most. The craving to see that lovely blush every day, to be respected and considered in every decision, not to be abandoned after the first complication. He senses a hopeful desire blossoming in his soul, arising from Alexander’s words, those spoken on the phone this morning and those firmly uttered while defending him from his own warlocks’ judgment. There is something peculiar about the man, and his foolish, obstinate heart wants to know more.

He sighs, his thoughts scattered by Raphael’s and Luke’s goodbyes.

Better not to dwell on it. He has no magic. He can’t protect anyone anymore. It’s better if he remains alone. Loneliness is something he is used to by now.


	3. Loneliness in Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new mission goes wrong (warning: there is a description of blood and Magnus's wound at the beginning of the chapter). In the second half Magnus and Alec's relationship grows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part is a bit dark again, but it gets fluffier for sure <3

He knows he should put his hands on the cold concrete, put energy into his tired arms and stand up slowly instead of keeping on sitting against the wall, his left leg stretched in front of him, his right bent, as if it’s ready to follow Magnus’s command. He knows, but his limbs are too heavy, weighing him down, making him slump even more. His mind is sluggish as well, oblivious to the world.

There is only one thing occupying his thoughts.

All the blood.

His fingers are trembling. The left side of his body is screaming in agony at him to lower his left arm, to rest it on his body, to cradle it carefully and avoid any physical exertion. But he can’t. A minute ago, he had touched the back of his head, his thoughts too dazed to realize what he was doing, and his hand came away bathed in a sticky liquid. He tilted his head, watching his sprawled, trembling fingers, recognizing that shade of copper anywhere.

Blood.

And he can suddenly feel warm drops forming, trickling through his hair on the back of his head; they drip on the nape of his neck and down his shoulder blade. It’s an eerie sensation: there are goosebumps on his skin, there, all around the incessant, viscous teardrops kissing his back.

Before he can think of clearing his head and calling for help, his chest contracts painfully. A strangled sound escapes his lips while his right hand seizes his shirt where is heart is, grasping the material with too much force. He can’t breathe. He can’t even try to, his limbs convulsing slightly, the pain too sharp.

Someone is clawing through his chest, opening it wide. He is sure, _so sure_ , that his heart is being taken away, extracted from his ribcage with tremendous violence. His body is sinking even more onto the ground, curling slightly as if to protect his chest, his weight pressing down on his left side.

The marks on his skin, where the injury inflicted by the Greater Demon still is, are expanding unexpectedly. He feels it, disoriented because of the pain, the agony clouding his mind. The deep, angry, swollen wounds are stretching slowly, getting longer, getting wider, piercing his skin even more. Blood is pouring out of them once again, gliding freely through his clutched fingers on his shirt, down to his stomach.

In the same way it started, the growth suddenly stops. Another choked sound escapes his throat when his lungs finally draw some blessed air in. He blinks fast, not daring to move, his mind still too numb, the suffering placating, a fearful echo reverberating through his soul. His body is slightly curled into himself, his back leaning against the wall behind him. Although his eyes are open, he can’t focus on what is in front of him: the world is swaying too much, the ground dipping left and right with no warning, dizzying him even more.

He concentrates on breathing in and out; he rests there for minutes, trying to regain control of his body.

He is drained. He feels the way he felt after the Greater Demon had managed to steal his magic: empty. His energy has left his limbs the same way his magic had, escaping from his heart as if pulled by a mysterious force.

“Magnus!”

He stills abruptly when he hears a voice calling his name, the tone worried.

Where is he?

He can’t remember. He doesn’t recognize the blurred colours of the street, nor the confusing noises around him. Where is he? Why can’t he remember?

“Magnus.” He feels a warm hand caressing his cheek and turning his tired head. His unfocused gaze meets big, concerned hazel eyes watching and studying him.

Alexander.

Pandemonium.

He is near his beloved Pandemonium. The Shadowhunters had discovered a suspicious activity around it, the presence of demons clear. The cabinet had decided on a hurried, last minute mission involving both warlocks and wolves in the front line, whereas the vampires and the Nephilim were not far, hidden and ready to intervene. Magnus’s warlocks needed to ward the place and the street all around them. He had insisted going as well to coordinate the mission. He needed to continue to work, to do his job, to protect his people, to lead them as well as he could, even more after the overheard conversation of last week.

And it went wrong, _again_. Everything was so quiet. Before he could understand why something seemed off, he was hauled against the wall, hitting his head.

And losing his vital energy from that cursed injury.

“Hey. Can you hear me?”

Magnus focuses back on the handsome face right in front of him. His cheek is still blessed by those fingers while Alexander’s other hand closes around his right biceps, anchoring him.

“Yes.” It’s a whisper, his throat hurting as if he screamed for hours.

“Are you okay?” The man’s thumb draws a slow caress on his cheekbone, making him shiver again.

The pain seems like a nightmare now that Alexander is there with him. But he can’t shake the fatigue and discomfort in his chest.

“I… have been better.” No lie, no direct truth; he doesn’t want to see the guilt in the Shadowhunter’s eyes. His answer, however, seems to trouble him even more, because his worried expression changes into a fierce and stoic one.

“C’mon.” His voice is still warm, even when his hands move, an arm gently circling his waist, the other reaching for his right wrist to stabilise him. Slowly, Alexander uses his strength to help him stand, Magnus’s left arm resting uselessly on his side, his chest and shoulder still aching steadily; his right one caresses Alec’s back, his fingers clutching weakly at the man’s black jacket.

The world disappears dangerously for some seconds, before reappearing blurred once again. He blinks fast to regain some sort of balance, the colours and outlines of the streets in front of the club crystallizing gradually.

Alexander is patiently waiting for him to adjust to his new position, for his legs to draw the little energy left in his body, for his lungs to work properly. “Are you with me?” He can’t look at him, so he keeps on staring straight ahead, even if he catches, from the corner of his eyes, how the man’s face is turned towards his, mere inches away, watching him carefully. He doesn’t trust his voice, so he just nods once, trying not to disturb his bleeding head.

“There’s a portal right there, waiting for us.” They start walking while Alexander talks hushedly, telling him about the mission, giving him details and different perspectives, distracting him from the blood and the void spreading inside him.

 

***

 

There is something warm on his neck. He frowns, waking up gently, not remembering when and how he reached his bed to finally rest some hours.

He opens his eyes, his face turned towards the window. A soft ray of light is illuminating his bedroom, escaping through the curtains; it graces his skin with a pleasant sensation, the warmth of the sun chasing away the cold of the autumn.

It seems later than usual. Maybe he didn’t hear the alarm? Maybe he didn’t have any appointment in the morning?

He leans on his left side, trying to raise his torso, and he hisses painfully when there is a sudden, unpleasant throbbing forming on his chest. He freezes, his jaw clenching hard, his sight staring unseeing at the closed door of the room.

_The mission. Pandemonium. His injury._

Someone used a portal to bring him to the New York Institute and Catarina’s care. Someone stayed with him while his friend successfully healed the injury on the back of his head. Someone had been restlessly pacing when Catarina announced the wound on his chest had unquestionably expanded, eating some more energy from his reserve, stealing almost everything it could inside him. Someone embraced his healthy side, shared his strength, and helped him reach his apartment, another portal ready.

Someone.

Alexander.

Magnus stays there, sitting on his bed, the small of his back warm, resting on his pillows. His bloodshot eyes roam intently, observing every detail of the door on his left, noticing the cracks of gold surrounded by the rich brown, the curves, the imperfections, the normality, the meaning of it all. He looks at it as if it holds all the answers he is suddenly seeking.

He is used to living alone. He is used to doing things alone, to solving his problems alone, to facing reality alone. He never expected someone to come into his life and offer help, freely, as if it’s the most natural course of action in the world.

Surely Alec will ask something in return: to put someone specific in his place as the new High Warlock of Brooklyn, as soon as it will be evident to them all that he is not suitable for the role anymore. Everyone probably knows it by now, after what happened the night before. Surely he will ask for a peculiar spell to use for his people, for his Institute, for the war against Valentine. He doesn’t think Alec would ask something for himself, however. He seems to be so self-unaware, so concentrated on the benefit of the whole Shadow world.

Nonetheless, the man will surely ask. Someone having such a good heart can’t really exist.

He draws in a fair amount of air to calm his thoughts. There is no reason to dwell on things he can’t control. He needs to do something. Anything.

Thus, he carefully moves, putting his feet on the floor, his right hand on the mattress. He still has some energy left in his limbs, the deep sleep gifting him of a miracle. He stands then, straightening his back inch by inch, stopping when he feels the wound on his chest hurting and tormenting him.

There, he did it. He can make it. A bathroom stop, followed by a quick breakfast and then off to find a solution. He needs to. He can’t go on like this; last night taught him that.

 

It takes him some time to take care of himself: he showers and fixes his make-up; he changes clothes and he puts a soft red robe on and black trousers. All the while, he tries not to touch nor bother the bandage on his chest, now covering all of his left shoulder too. There are already dark spots marring its white colour. He remembers Catarina’s words: she will call him in the afternoon and visit him in the late evening to change it.

His movements are slow and careful but he accomplishes everything he had to do. He needs nourishment now, however, his strength already dangerously diminished.

He slowly walks through his rooms, his mind occupied with new ideas and attempts, possible solutions and experiments. A dark part of his mind is already laughing mockingly at him, whispering how he previously tried everything that existed, that there is nothing he can do, that it’s over. _He_ is over.

His wound seems to agree with those negative thoughts, reminding him that it’s there, inside him, exhausting him every minute it can. He has to be careful. No new injuries, no stupid actions, or it will grow again and finish him off.

His body recognizes that something is wrong before his mind does. He stops suddenly in the middle of the living room, his brow furrowing, his face turning right and left, as if trying to understand what is wrong. His concerns melt away, crushed by a new, possible threat. And yet…

Coffee. There is the pungent and alluring scent of coffee in the air.

His eyebrows rise in surprise, confusion entering his mind.

Coffee?

There is a light sound coming from his kitchen. Is Catarina already here? He didn’t receive any message or call, warning of her arrival.

He walks towards his original target, curious now. He tries to be silent until he reaches the open door; he stops and carefully puts his right hand on the door frame. His head and torso bend and his eyes try to catch the source of the sweet scent and unannounced noise.

The surprise dies on his face and his body reacts once again without his permission. He suddenly takes two steps forwards, leaving the safety of the door frame, stopping right at the entrance of his kitchen, his mind blank.

He sees broad shoulders and a familiar back. An arm is bending, the hand reaching for a cup full of black liquid, the fingers surrounding it to raise it. His hair seems to be tousled again, but he found the time to change his clothes, a dark red T-shirt hugging his alluring torso.

Magnus remains there, unable to speak, watching Alexander taking a sip of his hot coffee, the steam still visibly escaping his porcelain cup.

There is a harsh sound. And he knows, detached, that his nose is trying to breathe in and out, helping his lungs to draw in some precious air. His heart is contracting and suddenly beating fast, too fast, the thud adding another noise in the apparent chaos inside and around him.

He pretends, for some seconds, that Alexander is not there to check whether he’s healthy enough to fulfill a favour or help him with any Shadowhunter and Downworlder problem. He pretends that the other man is there for him. He is there to check on him, to ask him whether he feels better, whether he needs anything. He is there because he wants to be, because he needs to escape the Institute as well, and come here, to be distracted, to talk with Magnus about everything and nothing. He is there because he noticed their intense and reciprocated gazing, the respect they feel toward one another, the curiosity blossoming in both of their hearts.

His mind keeps on playing awful tricks and he pretends that he is not alone, that the sense of loneliness he used to feel every day is finally gone, and it won’t distress him nor hurt him anymore.

He pretends.

But his heart knows better. And it contracts painfully, reminding him he can pretend all he wants, but reality is different.

He is still immersed in his thoughts when Alexander turns around with the cup in his hand. His unguarded expression changes immediately into shock when he sees Magnus standing there, in the doorway. He stops and they look at one another, their stares meeting and exchanging words and feelings, as always, without them even knowing it.

What can he say? He should thank the other man for taking care of him, for taking him back home. But he should add that there is no need for him to be there, as long as he doesn’t need something. What can he say, that won’t sound hurt and defensive?

“H-hey.” In the end, it’s the Shadowhunter who interrupts the sudden silence. And Magnus’s anxiety dissolves when his eyes notice the lovely blush appearing once again, touching Alexander’s soft cheeks. When he gazes back at his eyes, trying to understand what caused it, he notices how Alec is studying his bandage, his attention then drawn to the hollow of his throat and up, to his Adam’s apple.

Magnus’s lips turn, a sweet smile forming on his face. Ah, yes. Maybe he can pretend a bit longer, can he not?

“Hi.” He finally answers and he doesn’t move from the only exit of his kitchen. He wants to know. He needs to know.

“I-I... I’m sorry I stayed. I, uh, wanted to be sure you were alright.” Magnus’s smile grows when he notices that Alexander’s words seem to deepen the light red on his neck and jaw, telling him more than a thousand words.

He doesn’t need more signals to move: Magnus finally steps in, walking slowly and finally stopping in front of Alexander. Their bodies are close, their faces mere inches apart. He wanted to see the colour of his eyes from a small distance since the first day they met. And he is not disappointed at all: from up close, the hazel is even more beautiful.

“Thank you. I’m glad you’re here”. His voice is soft and he knows he did and said the right thing, because Alexander’s expression relaxes, the stiffness of his posture leaving his limbs. Maybe Alexander finally gave in too. Magnus surely did. He is fascinated by this man, pretense or not. Whatever this connection of theirs is, he is curious; and although he knows it’s not the right time for something like this to happen, he learned from past experience to stop thinking too much about things, and to just follow his instincts.

So he dares. “Stay for lunch.”

He watches, amused, how the surprise comes back on Alexander’s expression when he hears Magnus’s invitation. He expects anything: a long apology, followed by the reasonable excuse that he has a lot of work and he needs to go back to the Institute; a quick exit, preceded by some confused words telling him that he has to go. Anything. But not that answer.

“Okay.”

 

***

 

It is one of the most beautiful days in Magnus’s life.

He discovers it’s late morning already, and sweet Alexander accepts to stay at least until afternoon and wait for Catarina’s call, so that he will know Magnus won’t be alone in the evening.

After agreeing on that, the other man announces firmly that he’ll cook for the both of them and that Magnus is invited to sit and keep him company. He starts to laugh, amused, but the chuckle slowly dies on his throat when he notices Alec’s eyebrow raising. He’s not joking.

“Are... you serious?” They are still close to each other, although the Shadowhunter grabbed his phone, some minutes ago to tell his siblings he would be out all day. He was putting his phone back behind him, on the kitchen counter when he bluntly stated he would cook for Magnus. And now, he is watching him with patience, as if he knows everything about Magnus already, his insecurities, his vulnerabilities, his love for surprises.

“Yes, I am. I’m actually a good cook. I had to save many dinners from Isabelle’s, hum, attempts at cooking.” Magnus doesn’t doubt that. However, when he asked for him to stay, he thought about going out to buy something to take back home, or just eat what Catarina prepared for him days before, not in the mood of cooking for himself. At first, however, he had considered using his magic to offer Alexander the best lunch he could taste. He wanted to impress him. But he forgot his magic is gone. Alexander, however, clearly didn’t.

Is that a way to create a beautiful atmosphere and breach the favour discourse? It has to be. There is no chance that this handsome and kind man decided to stay here, to talk to him and to take care of him just because he wants to. There has to be something else behind his actions. Maybe he needs one of his old books, a forgotten spell. Why is he not asking openly, then? Maybe the favour is something more arduous? Yes, it has to be.

They stay like that for several minutes, Magnus looking into those brilliant eyes, seeking some sort of machination behind them, a warning of hidden intentions, a mischievousness that would tell him he needs to be careful around the Head of the New York Institute. Alexander, on the other hand, seems to be the most patient man in the world, because he stands there, waiting. Does he understand Magnus’s struggle? Has he experienced it as well? Magnus doesn’t know, he realizes. He knows very little about the Shadowhunter. He likes what he glimpsed, but he suddenly wants more. He wants everything. Nonetheless, he won’t tear his heart apart once again for a hopeful dream of love. He promised himself after what happened with Camille. Never again.

He gathers his courage, his expression serious. He takes a small breath and shields his heart for the inevitable to happen. Alexander notices the change but he says nothing, still waiting. “Why?”

The other man’s face clears, a serene expression forming on his beautiful features. He understands. He understands it all. “I trust you. And I want to.” Alec’s tone is clear and steady, no insecurities behind it, no lies.

Can Magnus trust him too? That is the dark part of his mind talking. Because his heart knows already: he can. And he does. He did the first day they met. “Trust makes you do strange things indeed. Must be something in the air.” He smiles, content, letting his heart win this battle. So be it. Let him have another heartache later. For now, he will enjoy it; he will savour every minute of Alexander’s company and hope he will be surprised even more.

His smile grows when he sees Alec looking strangely at him, his eyes blinking fast. It seems his Shadowhunter is realizing things as well, like in that beautiful moment during their first cabinet meeting.

In the end, Magnus finds himself sitting in his kitchen, enraptured by Alexander’s every movement, listening to his siblings’ adventures in the kitchen. He is aware that he is staring, probably a foolish, dreamy expression written all over his face, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t even mind. The sight in front of him is too spectacular.

The man moves like he’s been in his home forever. He guesses where things are at first, but he finally understands his method of disposition, opening drawers and cupboards without hesitation. He is enjoying the moment and it seems he loves cooking.

Magnus catches himself sighing several times. Beautiful, kind, patient and capable. Alexander Lightwood is perfect. Too perfect for someone like him. He forgets his lost magic, he forgets his ruined chest, he forgets everything but Alec and his own tense heart.

He loves this. He loves having Alexander in his home, walking through his rooms, the scent of coffee in the air, announcing he’s awake. He loves spending time watching him and listening to him, dreaming about him, about a future he’ll never have, about the past he wasted not knowing he would meet him. He loves it too much. And there is a sad part of him that constantly reminds him that this will end soon; that Alexander can’t stay here forever, that he has to go back to his Institute, that there is a war outside of his four walls.

But perhaps it’s already too late for him. He has tasted how it feels to have someone so pure next to him. And he can’t let go of that knowledge.

 

The lunch is ready in no time and they eat together, slowly, savouring everything Alexander managed to prepare with the few ingredients he found. For the first time in days, his mouth doesn’t taste ashes but exquisite aromas and pleasing food.

They forget the dirty dishes when Magnus stands up, grabbing Alexander’s hand by instinct, who looks at their joined fingers, astonished, and then back at him, his eyes wide. After some seconds, he squeezes Magnus’s hand, their fingers embracing even more. They spend the rest of the time inspecting every inch of his apartment, their fingers entwined, Alec’s questions uncovering stories and past experience. They laugh, they get somber, they share.

It is one of the most beautiful days in Magnus’s life for sure. Because in its simplicity, he manages to gain back a piece of soul, a part he lost with his magic. The open, curious company of Alexander is a blessing to his cracked heart, which, unfortunately for him, is still beating too fast, enjoying the moment as much as he is, hope invading his usual negative thoughts.

There is a joy in sharing and listening to someone’s life. It’s a way of knowing each other, it’s a way of discovering each other and their moments of happiness, of sadness, the difficulties, the flaws, the qualities.

Catarina’s call comes and is quickly forgotten, her promise to arrive at the beginning of the evening in the back of Magnus’s mind.

They find a perfect spot on his balcony, enjoying the view and the colours of the sunset dancing around them and the city. Their voices are hushed, as if they don’t want to ruin the moment, nor disturb nature and its course. They watch the first stars appear on the sky, a dark hue descending on them while the red of the sun is sinking beyond their reach.

They are not shy of their life stories, until they reach the inevitable topic of relationships. He discovers the existence of Lydia and the last minute cancellation of their wedding. He silently blesses Isabelle and her intrusion, making Alexander understand that it wasn’t what he wanted. He’ll call her and thank her for sure.

“What about others?” He doesn’t think his innocent question would upset the atmosphere. He doesn’t even notice it at first, his eyes alternatively watching the birth of the night and Alexander’s eyes; he is contemplating the stars in that moment and he finally notices Alec’s silence. He tilts his head, his body leaning against the rail of his balcony. Alexander’s eyes are averted, his gaze straight in front of him, his body tense; his jaw unusually clenched, nervousness and shyness seeping through his posture.

Magnus straightens his back, then he takes a small step to his right, closing the distance between them. The Shadowhunter notices it and he’s forced to look at him. His heart is suddenly guarded as well. Does he think Magnus will condemn him, like any other person in the world?

“I just haven’t had, uh, you know, time for a real relationship.” Alexander’s gaze wanders off once again, his eyes focusing on the deep night all around them. He is shy about it.

“It’s okay.” Magnus puts his arms on the railing, resting his palms on it. He brushes his right arm against Alec’s left; it’s a gentle caress to tell him that everything is alright, that he won’t judge, that he understands him as much as Alexander understands Magnus.

It seems to work, because he feels the other man’s shoulder relax gradually, their arms in full contact now, both of them enjoying each other’s warmth.

It’s Alec who breaks the comfortable silence they managed to create. “What about you? I mean, you must have had plenty of exes.”

Magnus feels the hidden question in there. Is his Shadowhunter trying to understand if it’s safe to share more of his difficult relationship with love? He hopes so. And that means he has to be honest in his answer. “I’ve been with men, women, Seelies, warlocks, vampires, a djinn or two. I am who I am.” He hopes he can convey the honesty and the meaning behind his words; he hopes Alexander understands that it’s okay, that there is nothing wrong with him and he shouldn’t let others choose for him, that he should accept his feelings and the fact that it’s normal to crave for something more.

“It’s all in the past. But right now I’m here. With you. And all the magic in the world can’t change that.” He slightly bumps his shoulder with Alexander’s, to hide the anxiety he feels in opening his heart that much, as well as the pain inside his chest that reminds him there is no magic in his life anymore. He doesn’t look back at the dark sky; he keeps on watching the other man’s features, trying to remember every line, every curve, every delicate feature. The soft light entering from his living room and the white glow of the stars are gifting him with a dazzling image: there are sparks in Alexander’s hazel eyes when he turns his face towards his; his expression is tender once again but also surprised, as if he knew but he needed to hear those words.

“I hear that relationships, they, hum, take effort.” Alec’s words are careful and tentative; his body, however, is not: he turns to face Magnus completely, looking at him, his eyes saying that yes, he understood.

Magnus smiles softly again, turning as well, immediately missing the warmth of their touch. “I’m all for effort.”

Their gazes never leave each other, the night silent while they observe one another, discovering every small detail, how Alexander’s eyes change with the light, how the gold in Magnus’s cat eyes reflects the soft light of the living room.

The moment is interrupted by Magnus’s phone ringing, the sound insistent and neverending, even after both of them tried to ignore it.

Magnus sighs, and before leaving the alluring bubble that formed around them, he brushes his fingers on the back of Alexander’s hand. He sees the other man’s shiver with the corner of his eye and he smiles amused, enjoying the fact that he has always been right: Alec’s skin is soft and magical as his soul.

He picks up his phone and accepts the call. Catarina’s voice shakes him from the stupor of being under Alexander’s spell, his presence making him forget everything and anyone. The call is brief and when he ends it, the Shadowhunter is walking towards him, his fingers caressing the nape of his neck as if suddenly embarrassed.

“It was Catarina. She’s coming.” He hears the sadness in his own voice, something he didn’t even know he was feeling. And it hits him: Alexander has to go.

He sees the same feeling of sadness in Alexander’s eyes, in his wistful smile. “Good. Well, I… I have to go.”

Magnus clutches the phone in his hand, his fingers turning white. Their eyes have found each other again, and it seems they don’t want to let one another go, either.

Yes, it’s certainly one of the most beautiful days in Magnus’s life. And he doesn’t want it to end.

“Would… you like to come back?” He hates the hesitation in his voice, but he’s not ashamed to give Alec the freedom of crushing his heart or making it whole once more. He has chosen trust over apprehension and hiding.

And it has been the right decision. Alexander’s face lightens up, the melancholy in his smile replaced by a sudden joy.

“Yes. Tomorrow? Dinner this time?” Magnus can feel the heat of the other man’s body now, Alexander’s rapid steps putting their bodies close again.

Distraction. “Perfect.” Magnus manages to murmur, even if his eyes are without a doubt distracted by those lips, right there, in front of him, inviting him for a taste. Should he push a bit more? Would Alec run away or would he accept him, like he accepted everything since they met?

He looks up again into that lovely hazel, and he notices, delighted, how the Shadowhunter was mirroring him, gazing longingly and distractedly at Magnus’s lips, now leaping back to his golden eyes, as if caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Alexander”. It’s a whisper, perhaps a plea, he doesn’t know. His own body seems to recognize what he feels, however, because his right hand finds Alec’s left wrist, his fingers brushing that lovely skin once again.

His heartbeat staggers dangerously, to come back wild and loud, thundering in his chest when he feels the shiver in the other man’s limbs, as well as the furious beating of his heart when Magnus’s fingers reach his shoulder, and brush over his chest. He finally finds his aim after a long, craved caress: the rune on his beautiful neck. He traces its line, his own breathing harsh in his ears, Alexander’s eyes closing while instinctively leaning into Magnus’s touch. His fingers finally cup Alec’s jaw, his thumb drawing light caresses on his chin.

Alexander’s eyes are open now, watching him fiercely. They are so close, thus Magnus proceeds slowly, giving the Shadowhunter the time to stop him. Anticipation makes his blood rush through him, his energy suddenly back, everything else forgotten. His fervent heart is guiding him, and finally, _finally_ , he lightly caresses Alexander’s lips with his own. It’s just a gentle touch, and then he stops; their eyes are still open, looking at each other, their short breaths mingling with each other, their chests brushing constantly, Magnus’s finger still caressing Alec’s jaw. It’s just a second of reassessing, of making sure that everything is alright, that they can stop if it’s not what they want, and it seems to last years, a whole eternity. And then their lips touch again, both meeting one another, both wanting more. This time, their eyes close as well, lost in the intensity of their kiss, of their new emotions, of their mouths opening, their tongues meeting for a secret dance of their own.

Magnus is warm, so blessedly, warm. Alexander’s hands are suddenly on him, one clutching his red robe, the other stealing a light touch on his naked stomach, finding his waist under the robe. Magnus’s other hand shoots out as well, finding Alec’s chest, his T-shirt in the way.

What started as a sweet kiss is getting out of their control: their bodies are moving together, trying to be nearer, trying to melt better together, needing to feel each other; there are soft gasps of pleasure escaping their throats, not knowing when one starts and the other ends; their mouths can’t leave each other, fitting perfectly as if they were one from the beginning. Their caresses and tongue strokes are crying out what they couldn’t: that they crave for this, that it’s sweet and passionate, that it’s scary but captivating, that it’s beyond perfect and everything they ever wanted.

In the end, they need to leave each other’s lips, their hearts bursting with too much force, their breathing too ragged. Alexander’s soft laugh is music to Magnus’s ears, and he wishes, oh how he wishes, he would hear it every day of his life.

He wants to stay like this forever, their gazes finding each other again, a flaming sparkle in the hazel and golden, but Alexander is surely braver than he is, because he manages to steal another soft kiss, his lips suddenly on his own, before leaning in and resting his forehead against his. “See you tomorrow?”

He doesn’t want to answer; if he does, it means Alec will go and this moment will be over. But he knows reality is coming back, and he holds on to the joy of knowing that his Shadowhunter will come back the day after.

“See you tomorrow.”


	4. Discovery in Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Alec blinks fast, lost again. His desk comes into view, the papers still scattered in front of him, a soft breeze entering from the open windows. The door of his office is slightly ajar, yet he didn’t hear all the noise, nor does he know how much time he spent daydreaming about Magnus Bane. Again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alec's pov this time (Magnus's pov comes back at the end). Some fluff before the infamous and angsty chapter 5. Enjoy!

Sometimes he catches himself overthinking. He’s more aware of it now, after Izzy told him many times to stop doing it, to trust his instincts and follow what his gut is nudging him to do.

He didn’t overthink when he asked Magnus Bane to be part of the cabinet. He didn’t overthink when he went through the Institute archives, trying to find useful books and spells for Catarina to heal him. He didn’t overthink either, when he decided to stay at Magnus’s home last night, worried that the warlock’s sadness would finally prevail.

He glimpsed it multiple times. He is starting to be good at watching and observing him when Magnus is not looking, and he noticed, several times now, how there is always a veil of sadness and melancholy touching his beautiful, golden eyes. One moment, confidence and calm mirror his features; a second after, he would blink and his small smile would die on his lips, the mask slipping, his gaze dropping to the ground. Alec catches those brief moments and he is also aware of how his own heart tugs inside his chest, missing a beat and contracting painfully.

The first time, it happened when they met. He had heard stories about the powerful Magnus Bane. He read and reread the official reports of that fateful mission so many times, how Magnus had tried to protect the whole group, killing all the demons he could, attacking the Greater Demon without reserve. And yet, he could not overlap the image of the High Warlock of Brooklyn he had with the lost man sitting on a bed in the Institute infirmary, his gaze unseeing, hushed words about lost magic escaping his lips.

It was Alec’s fault. He was certain of it. So, at the beginning, he tried to amend, and he worked hard to help Catarina in her research. He is still helping and he won’t stop any time soon.

But then, something changed the day of the first cabinet meeting.

The conversation with the warlock asking to change their representative didn’t touch him particularly: he was sure of his decision and he will never regret it. He wasn’t ready, on the other hand, to enjoy the discussion with the other leaders so much, their minds sharp and intelligent, their thoughts and ideas interesting, giving him new perspectives. He noticed, however, that Magnus had been quiet for some time towards the end of the meeting, and he tried to include him in the conversation. Alec was concerned he would find traces of sadness in the warlock’s eyes but what he actually discovered surprised him: fondness.

Magnus was watching him, content, as if he was seeing something incredible, someone breathtaking. How could he look at _him_ like that? During that moment, during that exchange of silent words, his heart stopped his too pungent thoughts and he could only stare back, his mind completely blank. His eyes finally perceived everything he learned to secretly like: Magnus’s perfect, black hair; the sparkles of life in the unique colour of his eyes, a golden he had never seen before and that won’t leave his dreams; the way his clothes hugged his sculpted body, his arms too distracting, his elegance too charming.

He would have stayed there, gaping, his mouth open, his thoughts dispersed, if Jace hadn’t entered the room and told him of another urgent problem to solve. It was the perfect time to leave, to try to reassemble his bewildered mind, to understand what was happening.

Izzy saved him again.

They made a pact after the fiasco with Lydia: no more hiding. So he went to her, and whispered that he was lost.

He didn’t even know the man. He knew little, and yes, he liked what he glimpsed, but that was no excuse to think about him all day, to crave for more time to look at him or to finally have a long conversation. She listened to him with a tender expression on her face and after his confused confession, she told him he simply had a crush on Magnus Bane and that it was okay.

It’s okay.

It’s actually more than okay. It’s amazingly good. _Too_ good.

He had been worried after Magnus was hurt during the mission at Pandemonium. Everything else went smoothly with the exception of that particular moment and he knew, somehow, that it would take a toll on the warlock’s already fragile situation. So he talked to Catarina and he decided he would stay with Magnus and wait for him to wake up to see if he was okay. Alec promised himself he would leave if he noticed the other man was alright and not hiding his sadness; on the other hand, if he felt that something was off, he would linger and tell Izzy and Jace to cover him.

In the end, he was caught drinking coffee in Magnus’s kitchen by the man himself, and his first thought was embarrassingly clear: Magnus was definitely too beautiful.

No matter his paleness, no matter the bandage covering his chest, no matter the weariness in his features; all Alec could do was stare, mouth open once again, at the vision in front of him, at the shock of skin showing through his unfastened, red robe, at how his neck was elegant and beautiful, at how his eyes were sparkling and asking him silent questions.

The vulnerability he suddenly saw shattered his dreamy observation. He understood. He understood the uncertainty the other man was feeling, because it’s the same way he usually feels: he doesn’t know whether it’s okay to take a leap of faith, to put down the walls he has around his heart all the time, to finally scatter all his unnerving thoughts into the wind, and go for what he wants. Isabelle is his safety, her room the physical shelter he seeks to release all the dark thoughts in his mind, to avoid being so rigid and tense all the time. She listens patiently, she gives him advice, she tells him everything will be alright.

Does Magnus have someone like that? Alec thinks he doesn’t and that makes his heart clench anew.

So he suggested cooking for the both of them, and everything was on display one more time. He was right: Magnus had no one to help him through his walls, his reaction making that clear.

And Alec enjoyed being that anchor for him, even if only for a day, even if only for one afternoon, even if he will be one among many in his long life.

He had fun, _too_ much fun. Magnus’s apartment was a temple for any kind of treasure and the other man was full of stories and experience to share.

Nonetheless, even though the atmosphere was lovely and their physical contact an unexpected surprise, he froze when they breached the relationship topic.

What could he say to an immortal warlock?

_Look, I’m gay._

_Apparently, I’ve a crush on you._

_Have you ever been with a Shadowhunter?_

Everything seemed wrong and he was definitely overthinking. So he clenched his jaw and focused on breathing in and out while pretending to watch the night sky. He was gathering his courage to defend his heart, to avoid the hurt when he would hear the judgment, the condemning words, the mockery. Instead, he heard Isabelle’s words hushed back at him, a soft _it’s okay_ full of promises, understanding and hope. Yes, he definitely had fallen into his old habit of overthinking, because had he followed his instinct, he would have heard the hesitation in the other man’s tone before, the fear of rejection shining in those shimmering eyes, the desire for something more hidden beneath.

He stopped listening to his mind in the end, and obeyed his heart when Magnus decided to pursue that desire.

His first kiss.

 

Alec blinks fast, lost again. His desk comes into view, the papers still scattered in front of him, a soft breeze entering from the open windows. The door of his office is slightly ajar, yet he didn’t hear all the noise, nor does he know how much time he spent daydreaming about Magnus Bane. Again.

He sighs, his hand massaging the back of his neck. It’s been like that all day. His mind would go empty without warning while he is delivering an order; he would stop walking through the corridors of the Institute all of a sudden, with no apparent reason; he would stare, unseeing, at the wall in front of him, daydreaming.

Eventually, his thoughts drift to that kiss, and he remembers how Magnus’s lips are soft and like heaven, how his body feels so right close to his own, how their touches are way more than simply _okay_. They make him feel accepted, wanted, needed. It’s a new and eerie sensation he doesn’t want to let go.

So he keeps on tracking the time, noticing how the day is passing too slowly, how work isn’t a good distraction anymore, how he wants to see _his_ face once more.

And in the end dinner time arrives, and he’s running to his room to grab his jacket, a laughing Isabelle waving him goodbye, knowing too much, seeing through him with no difficulty.

The trip to Magnus’s apartment is even worse than the whole day of work: he’s so close to what he wants and his impatience is driving him crazy; his legs are too slow, the distance too big, his heart too eager. He tries to catch his breath there, in front of Magnus’s door, seeking some sort of composure. Surely, Magnus hasn’t been so eager for his arrival; he needs to lower his expectations and just enjoy the moment.

Thus, he is caught by surprise when he knocks on the door, and the latter is being opened immediately after. Magnus’s hopeful face appears right behind it, and they both can’t utter a single word, lost in one of those moments, their eyes finding each other, their gazes embracing again. Although he has missed _this_ all day along, there is something else he has craved more: he leans in, his right hand resting on the doorframe for support, and he catches those beautiful lips, tasting them swiftly, lightly, just a touch to confirm that yes, he remembered correctly, and yes, what happened is definitely real.

He feels Magnus’s eager response, but it’s just a moment before they look back into each other’s eyes, their bodies touching. And there’s a caress on his jaw, Magnus’s fingers tracing the block rune on his neck. That definitely seems to be his favourite spot for torture.

“I missed you too.” Alec smiles when he hears Magnus’s words whispered between them, the whole world deep in silence. Although he loves the connection they created, what he enjoys more is the fact that the other man seems to understand him in any situation, even when Alec has no words to convey what he feels, even when he’s too happy to tell him anything.

The tender moment is broken by Magnus’s mischievous smile; Alec feels his hand close on his own wrist, and he is suddenly pushed into the apartment, an inviting scent entering his nostrils.

Magnus was cooking. He was preparing dinner and he even bought ingredients, the almost empty cupboards of the day before now full of food. Alec smiles, amused, when the warlock uncovers dishes and pots, telling him that this time it’s his turn to treat Alec.

They eat, talk, and laugh; they describe their day while washing the dishes, updating one another.

There is a warm sensation spreading through his chest and Alec is finally content. Everything feels right, their talk, their innocent touches, their bodies getting closer without them knowing, their hearts whispering to one another. There is nothing awkward, nothing shameful, nothing foreign. It feels right. And Alec thinks he found his home at last.

 

What he loves most about Magnus is the respect he gives him. He never pushes, he never demands, he never questions. There is a line he seems to have drawn for their intimacy, for their desired touches, and Alec can’t help but feel relieved. He is too new to this, too shy sometimes, and he will never thank Magnus enough for giving him the time, for gifting him with the control of the pace of their connection. Alec knows he can decide to have more, to have less or nothing at all; he knows he can lean in for an innocent kiss or initiate another heated touch; he knows Magnus always understands what he needs.

He secretly loves, however, the light touches the warlock manages to steal; sometimes, Alec feels a delicate caress on the back of his hand, on his fingers, on his neck, on his cheek. And his body answers with an uncontrolled shiver and he wants more, _more_ , but he has to be careful not to lose himself.

So, when he sees Magnus next to him on the couch after an evening of talking and a few innocent drinks, close but not enough to touch, his tired eyes closing, his body clearly exhausted, asking for rest, Alec just smiles. He knows Magnus won’t come closer if Alec doesn’t say so or if he doesn’t invite him with a look or a touch. He loves that. Respect.

“Go to sleep.” He is sorry to wake him up: the warlock’s eyes snap open, bloodshot, but the bed is a better option than the couch, however comfortable it is.

Alec closes the distance between them, his arm caressing Magnus’s waist, their shoulders touching. His lips find the other man’s hair and he drops a soft kiss on the top of his head, loving the feeling.

“Don’t go.” It’s a soft murmur, but Alec catches it anyway, even when he feels Magnus’s arms circling his waist, his head finding the perfect spot on Alec’s chest, just there, on the hollow of his throat. It’s a sweet embrace, one he didn’t ever imagine he could experience, and he closes his eyes, savouring the shared warmth, the silky contact, the perfection of it all. His hand finds Magnus’s back, and he starts drawing light circles on it, a comforting gesture, hoping Magnus will finally fall asleep. He needs to rest and restore the energy he lost the other day. He needs to be alright, because he’s starting to be too important in Alec’s life.

“I won’t.” It’s a promise and it achieves his goal: the other man’s body finally relaxes on his, their limbs adjusting to each other, stretching on the large couch. He didn’t know it could be like this. He didn’t know it would feel so good. It’s definitely _too_ okay: it’s perfect.

 

***

 

The morning after, the light of the sunrise entering through the windows startles them, warming them and chasing away the chilliness of the night. They wake up like that, huddled together, a heavy blanket on them, their bodies providing even more heat. Their limbs are entangled, their arms around each other’s waists, their fingers grasping their clothes, never wanting to let go. Magnus’s head is still resting on his shoulder, and he can feel the light touches of his eyelashes on his skin when he blinks, trying to dispel his fatigue and the last remains of sleep.

Alec smiles softly: waking up like this is everything he didn’t know he wanted. Is there something he is experiencing with Magnus he doesn’t like? There is a sweet intimacy in waking up together after a night spent in each other’s arms. It’s beautiful and unique, new and incredible.

“Good morning,” he greets quietly when he feels Magnus’s head turn. He sees the gold in his eyes from up close and he’s lost once more: he daydreamed about this all the hours of the day before, and now it’s there, in front of him.

He can’t look away. There is no denying the man is astonishingly beautiful: his lips are too alluring, his cheekbones too perfect, his jaw too tempting; and those eyes, he will never get used to them. The gold reflects what he thinks the colour of Magnus’s soul is: it’s a breathtaking taint; it’s alive, shimmering with such a force that he can’t look away. It reminds him of the hue of late sunset, the day kissing the sky goodbye while the night greets the world, whispering promises of dreams and forgotten wishes. It has an inner light, and it illuminates his life, telling him that he can have what he thought he never could, that he can hope and be who he wants to be with no fear, with no judgement.

There is nothing but respect in the other man’s eyes, that same respect he has learned to love and desire. And he hopes that one day he’ll manage to gift Magnus with something as important and marvelous.

Their awakening is as sweet as their falling asleep. They just look at one another and he can see the same wonder he senses in Magnus’s eyes. How can it feel so right? They’ve known each other for mere weeks; it shouldn’t be so marvelous, so _real_. Yet, here they are, perfectly at ease and content after an innocent night sleeping together on a couch.

“Hi.” It’s a whisper, followed by a soft caress on his jaw. Magnus’s hand finds his chest and it rests on his heart, following its beating. Is he trying to convince himself that Alec is real? Is he asking himself whether he’s still dreaming, like Alec is doing? Because this definitely feels like an amazing vision.

After several minutes of mutual marveling, they finally decide that it’s time to get up and leave the comfort of the couch. They find themselves in the kitchen, preparing coffee and breakfast, living another new experience together and enjoying every moment of it.

Today, Alec remembers, it’s the day of their usual cabinet meeting, which means that Magnus will come with him to the Institute. He hides his happy smile behind his cup of coffee, drinking avidly. It will surely be an interesting day.

Or at least, that is what he thought before reaching the Institute, Magnus at his side.

 

***

 

There is an emergency waiting for him the moment they step in the Institute. Isabelle and Jace are running toward them and they hurry for the main hall, Magnus included. Something is wrong: their screens are alerting them of a dangerous amount of demons in the city, yet no Shadowhunter managed to find something remotely off.

They are still trying to understand what is happening, the four of them observing a different screen to find something useful, when the ground under their feet shakes.

Alec hears the screams of alarm all around him and he reacts: he runs towards the armoury on his left; he pushes a button and his bow and arrows appear in front of him. He grabs the bow with his right hand but he has no time to pick up an arrow because the wall behind him rattles suddenly. Everything happens too fast: one moment he feels the world dipping alarmingly, and right after the wall shatters completely, exploding.

His last thought before covering his face for protection is that he doesn’t know where his siblings and Magnus are and he has been too stupid to get separated from them.

Something sharp hits him, but he doesn’t understand where. He doesn’t understand anything, really. There is no light around him, no sound, no clarity. He can’t feel his body, nor the ground under him. It’s a confusing and fearful sensation and he can’t help but feel helpless while waiting for his mind to figure out what is happening.

After long minutes, there is a twitch, and he finally feels his fingers. His legs and torso follow right after, and he can move again, concrete and dust falling from his back when he tries to sit on the floor. He blinks fast while he shakes his head, the light suddenly coming back around him.

Some Shadowhunters are helping each other, healing the ones wounded by the explosion; others are shouting orders, trying to get the situation under control; no one seems seriously injured. There is nothing coming in from the breach on their Institute. What happened?

Something is burning in his body.

He glances down. His right arm is a mess: the right side of his body is throbbing with a painful rhythm. He needs to breathe less harshly, but he meets some difficulties in doing so; there is not enough air and he can’t calm his thoughts. His arm is trembling against his side and he doesn’t even try to lift it.

There is too much blood, he knows that. His sleeve is drenched, his skin crimson, heavy drops escaping his wound with too much freedom. He watches, mesmerized, how it keeps on flowing until his mind finally screams at him to grab something, anything, and put it on the injury to stop the bleeding.

And when he finally focuses his attention on his surroundings, noticing how Izzy and Jace are rushing towards him, how he’s sitting on the ground, his bow faraway, his arrows scattered around him, it hits him.

Someone is missing.

A strangled sound escapes his throat, his left hand clutching Jace’s, who is now half crouching over him, his support essential. He can’t answer his siblings’ questions, he doesn’t even hear them; his eyes roam all around them, trying to find a familiar back, those sparkling eyes and beautiful features. His heart should tug him in the right direction: it always knows where he is standing; it senses where Alec can find the joy that always invades his soul whenever they are together.

He wasn’t far. He was right there, next to the–

Golden, horrified eyes capture his and his heart stops.

 

***

 

Magnus is living a nightmare. It _has_ to be a nightmare. There is no other explanation for what he sees in front of his eyes: Alexander’s right arm is covered in blood, a gaping wound marring his shoulder and upper arm.

His siblings are by his side already, Jace’s hand firmly in Alec’s, Isabelle already drawing an _iratze_ on her brother’s skin.

Magnus tried to reach him the moment he saw his body hitting the ground, a scream of denial tearing apart his throat. He ran toward Alexander, _his_ Alexander, his fingers sprawling, his arms bending, ready to… do nothing. He stopped, in the middle of the hall, Alexander’s eyes discovering the source of his pain and then wandering, trying to find something else.

There is nothing. No spark in the tip of his stomach, no blood and energy rushing through his limbs, no singing in his soul. His healing magic, what he thought was the purest side of the heritage he had to live with, is gone.

And there, in front of him, the worst of his nightmare: a person he loves is hurt, needing his help, and he can’t do anything, _anything_ , about it. He’s weak, hopeless, useless.

He feels like a puppet when his legs start to move once again, his heart pushing him towards Alexander, the urgency to check whether he’s alright stronger than the despair growing inside him.

The Shadowhunter is watching him, his face worried, his pain forgotten, his white fingers still clutching Jace’s with too much strength.

“There, it should be fine.” They both distractedly register Isabelle’s words announcing the injury has been taken care of, that Alec is okay, that there is nothing wrong anymore.

Magnus crouches next to her, his eyes tearing themselves away from the hazel, finding the source of his terror. There is still too much blood on Alexander’s arm, but where the injury was leaking crimson liquid some minutes before, now there is only an angry bruise and nothing more. He feels his legs give away, and he sits on the ground next to them, his fingers itching to caress that skin and make sure that everything is alright, that he didn’t almost lose another important person, that he didn’t almost waste these past days being afraid of living and be happy.

“Hey.” It’s a whisper but it manages to shatter the spell: Alexander’s voice enters his mind. His stained arm moves and his fingers find Magnus’s knee for a light squeeze of reassurance. Magnus’s gaze finally moves up and he meets the other man’s eyes again, his concern scarring his heart.

His own hand raises and he finds the one on his knee; their fingers embrace, anchoring them. “Are you alright?” Please, _please_ , let him be alright. He can’t live through another loss, not now, not ever where Alexander is concerned. How is it possible that a person has changed his heart so much in such a short time? He always managed to stand up again after he lost someone, _always_. But he’s not sure he can do it if something happens to this man. He doesn’t know. And it terrifies him.

“Yeah. It’s okay.” Another squeeze, Alec’s hand warm and comforting: he is still alive, still there with him. The words seep through him, making him shudder lightly.

He’s okay. For now.


	5. Despair in Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But not now. He knows what he problem is. And what he saw in the nightmare won’t happen. What he almost risked today, won’t happen. Alexander won’t be put in danger again. He can’t lose him; if he does, his mind will give in, making him insane.
> 
> He can’t. And that means he needs his magic back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: there is a nightmare at the beginning of the chapter involving Magnus's mother (so, traumatic experience). There are some blood descriptions as well.  
> Angst is fully back after two mild chapters.

_It’s night._

_Silence always dominates the late hours and he should be used to that by now. But in this particular night, something feels strange._

_He hid all day, watching the roaming cats that usually keep him company, play among themselves; they sometimes came near him to get a stroke, but they noticed his attention was focused on something else, so they didn’t seek his touch too frequently._

_He couldn’t concentrate on finding food for them, but following their movements helped to ease his mind. He is sad. He is sad because his mama is sad. Ever since they discovered his powers, she is different. She doesn’t look at him with love anymore; she doesn’t call his name anymore; she doesn’t even glance his way anymore; she doesn’t even know he exists. She wakes up, she wanders through the house, she goes out to work, and then she comes back. She does the same things she usually does, but it’s all different. Her eyes are... lifeless. He loves his mama’s eyes. They used to sparkle whenever they found his; he would notice how tiny, white glitters would form in the brown colour of her eyes, the joy making his small chest all warm and happy. Her whole face would brighten: she would smile and then laugh, telling him he was the light of her life._

_She is different now. The last time their gazes met was days – weeks? – before. His eyed changed and they aren’t like his mama’s anymore. They are gold. He saw the colour, somehow, reflected on the surface of the lake near their house. And the expression in his mother’s features transformed completely: her joy dissolved, confusion taking place at first, to give place to denial and rejection. The last thing he caught, before she turned away, closing the door of her room behind herself with such force as to rattle all the objects in their little house, was the fear. She was terrified. Of him._

_There is no joy anymore in those eyes. There is no warmth in his chest. There is no mama calling him. There is nothing._

_He hates seeing that. At first he was angry. Angry at her, for hiding away and not tell him what was wrong; angry at himself, for making her scared and sad._

_Now, he’s just heartbroken. He misses his mother. He misses talking with her, eating with her; he misses her laugh and her smiles. He misses everything._

_He decided he would keep away during the day. In that way, she will surely stop being sad, because she wouldn’t see him around her anymore. And maybe her eyes will become alive again; she will miss him too and tell him she is sorry. Or maybe she won’t say anything, and that is okay too; the important thing is that they will go back to the way they used to be._

_That is what he thinks when he enters through the backdoor after hiding all day. Night has fallen and it’s time to go back. The house is quiet; his stepfather will come back soon, but his mother should be in the kitchen now. Yet, when he walks slowly towards it to check, trying not to make any noise, he finds it empty. Something is definitely strange._

_Perhaps she’s sleeping? She seems tired all the time lately._

_His small feet are used to being silent on the floor; his head is turning right and left to catch a glimpse of her. No one. Maybe in her room?_

_He keeps on walking until he reaches his destination. The door is closed, as it has been all of these days. He bites his bottom lip, hesitant. Shall he enter? Will she get angry? But why can’t they talk like they used to? Because his eyes are different? Because he almost destroyed half of his room? He apologized so many times. Was it maybe because these powers were too much? Was it because no one had them but him? Does she think he will hurt her? Surely, she can’t think that. She’s his mother. And he doesn’t even know how to use his… magic. No, his mother would never._

_Convinced, he raises his arm, reaching up. He pushes the wood, and the door starts to open, a light screech echoing around him._

_He enters the room, his legs unsure, his small heart beating frantically. Maybe he should have waited some more days so that he would be sure her anger melted away._

_He lets the door spread wider, ready to apologize for the intrusion, but the words die on his throat._

_He blinks fast, confused._

_He found his mama. And he was right: she’s sleeping... Is she?_

_She’s resting on the bed, her face turned towards him. Her skin, however, is white, her lips colorless. The corner of his eye catches something else: there, in the middle of her chest. It’s a long dagger. And there’s so much blood._

_His tiny limbs start to shake._

_No, no, no._

_Something is wrong._

_It can’t be his mother. That body, there, resting on the bed, with no life, stained by dark liquid all over her, on her chest, on her stomach, on her face, on the covers, on the floor, can’t be his mother. His mama smiles and her eyes are full of glittery sunshine. The woman’s are closed, her sad face sorrowful._

_It can’t be._

_A strangled sound escapes his mouth when her features start to shift. He feels himself shift with her, his arms and legs getting longer, his chest expanding, a ferocious agony clawing his skin and his heart._

_Her body is changing, the blood seeping through her injury._

_He blinks and he’s in the New York Institute. In front of him, Alexander lies on the ground, his face turned towards his. His hazel eyes are open, looking at him, lifeless. There’s no sparkle in them, there’s no green reminding of summer and forests, there is no brown whispering about warmth and sand. There is nothing but plain accusation._

_He let him die._

_Alexander’s soul has left, leaving behind an empty, bloodied shell. His right arm is resting on his stomach, the other is on the floor, stretched toward Magnus; his fingers are spread, as if he tried to reach him, as if he tried to take a hold on him and on life. The dagger is there, in his chest, the black hilt shimmering in the darkness, calling him, judging him, covered in blood._

_He let them die._

_He killed them, even if he didn’t sink the dagger into their chests with his own hand, even if he didn’t know. His weakness killed them. And there’s nothing–_

 

Magnus wakes up to the sound of his tormented screams.

He sits up on his bed all of a sudden, his right hand clutching the robe and the bandage on his chest, right on his distraught heart, the red cover falling onto his lap. His limbs are shaking too much, uncontrolled, fear closing his throat. He’s breathing with difficulty, the harsh sound of his inhales and exhales the only noise in the room.

He can’t see. He can’t hear anything but the strangled echoing of his throat and nose, and a terrible shrill ringing in his ears. His limbs are heavy and he feels like he’s drowning, the water opposing to his attempt at swimming towards the surface and the blissed air. He can’t move either, the only strength he feels lies in the death grips he has on the cloth and gauze on his chest.

 _Not real_ , _not real_ , _not real_.

It’s a slow thought forming and expanding in his blank and sluggish mind, but once it’s there, he holds onto it, and he keeps on repeating it. It gives him the rhythm to force his blazing lungs to work properly, letting precious oxygen in; it gives him the courage to blink steadily, until his head is light, until the ringing recedes and the only things he still feels is the endless shivering and the cold drops of sweat icing his skin.

He finally manages to use his eyes and he drinks in the calm around him, until his sight focuses on the brilliance of the stars and the moon in the dark sky, showing through his window. A stronger shudder cut through his resolve when he feels a heavy drop of sweat leaving his temples and glide down, touching the corner of his eye, sliding on his cheek. He frowns, confused. He lifts his left hand towards his face, noticing only now how his fingers were entwined forcefully on the cover; he stops, and then he caresses his cheek with his index finger.

Tears. He cried during the nightmare.

He watches, bewildered, the transparent liquid. When was the last time he cried? Or the last time he felt like this, defenseless and fragile?

He actually remembers a moment like this, over a century ago, when Camille was by his side. He remembers sad years during the 1900s, when he was utterly alone; and he remembers the years later too, when he crafted a mask to cover his feelings, using parties as a distraction to hide the loneliness and sadness he felt.

His arms fall slowly, his right hand stained with the blood that seeped through the reopened wound on his chest. His eyes turn back to the beautiful sky he can see out of his windows, a lulling vision capturing his attention.

It’s been 400 years, yet he will never forget the helplessness and guilt he felt when he found his mother’s body. It was his fault. She killed herself because she couldn’t live another day knowing he existed; she died because he was too weak to talk to her, to understand her, to use his magic to heal her. He was too young.

But not now. He knows what he problem is. And what he saw in the nightmare won’t happen. What he almost risked today, won’t happen. Alexander won’t be put in danger again. He can’t lose him; if he does, his mind will give in, making him insane.

He can’t. And that means he needs his magic back.

 

***

 

He doesn’t care about his clothes or his disheveled appearance. He doesn’t care that he is too lightheaded and that his heart is hurting too much, nor that it’s too early to leave his bed and that he needs to rest. He doesn’t care about retrieving objects, potions or summoning. He doesn’t care about power or strength. All he cares about now is getting his healing and protective magic back. That should have always been his priority: it’s the most important part of his demonic abilities. With his healing magic he can avoid what he experienced today, when the wall of the Institute collapsed and he saw Alexander hit by the force of the explosion. With his healing magic he could have avoided what happened to his mother all those years before.

His thoughts touch Alexander often, even while he is rushing through his rooms, opening every closet, every drawer, every hidden safe, to find the solution of his problem. Dear, brave, Alexander, who told him multiple times that he was okay, that Izzy healed him and that there was nothing to feel guilty for. The man saw through him at once. Magnus didn’t answer, he didn’t say anything; he just looked at him and at his injury when the Shadowhunter’s attention focused on something or someone else.

In the end, no demons came through the gaping building. The attack started and ended immediately, the signal of demonic activity dying the moment after the blast. Alexander had to stay at the Institute to help with the rebuilding of the wall, his warlocks helping. _See you at home_ , Alec said, with a light caress on his arm, telling him nothing had changed, revealing that he considers Magnus’s home as his, that he feels safe, welcomed and loved there.

He thought he could focus on that, that it would be enough for his mind to stop torturing him with thoughts of weakness and inadequacy, but his anxiety and negativity were too strong.

And here he is, wrecking his home for an answer he already searched for, and that he is sure he will never find.

 

That is exactly what happens, after hours of searching, after a whole night of anxiety.

He finds nothing.

He is sitting on his couch, the same where he slept with Alexander the other night, the heat of the other man’s body distracting him, his beating heart a lullaby for his ears. It was one of the loveliest nights he ever lived. And here he is, his body tired, his shoulders hunched, his unfocused gaze drifting through the disorder in his living room, his books, potions and magical objects all over the floor and furniture. The blade of his mother’s dagger is resting on his knees, his right hand gripping the handle, his thumb caressing it.

The silence of the sunrise reminds him of that terrible night, the day he lost the person he loved the most, the same day he started hating himself. The memories he tried to suppress all these years are coming back, making him notice aspects of his life he didn’t want to face. They are too painful.

Yet, he suddenly recalls how he felt completely lost when he realized his mother killed herself. He senses the echoes of the fear that strangled his throat when his stepfather screamed that he was an abomination. Most of all, he perceives the loneliness embracing him tightly, cutting the air from entering his lungs.

It’s like a heavy cloak, tight around his limbs, making them hurt and useless, making him deaf and blind. There is only an insistent ringing in his ears again, covering the sound of his labored breathing.

Above all, he feels alone.

There is no denying he needs help. He has to get his magic back to protect the person he cares about the most. Nonetheless, who can he contact?

Perhaps he can call Catarina and ask her whether she found something. But he did that already, days ago, and his friend is busy during the day, her job as a nurse time consuming and what she loves most in her life; if she made any progress, she would have called him.

Perhaps he can call Tessa, or Dot. But both have disappeared, the first faraway in one of her craved journeys to forget her lovers; the other lost in a war they are all part of.

Perhaps he can speak with Raphael. He really doesn’t want to, however; Raphael is immersed in his role as the leader of the New York’s vampire clan. They don’t speak about each other’s problems; they check whether they are okay, once in a while, and they are ready to help one another. Yet, he can’t bring himself to ask. He could never put such a burden on the child’s shoulders.

Perhaps he would have gone to London and knocked on Ragnor’s door, if he were still alive. His best friend would have laughed at the tragic expression on his face, put a hand on his back and told him he had the right spell in one of his old books, hidden in a place known only by him.

But Ragnor is dead. As are most of the people he ever loved or cared about in his life.

There is no one else. No one else he can ask for help or advice. Will Catarina take his place as High Warlock and protect Alexander? Will she do it if he explains to her how important he is?

Because now, his mind fully occupied by the images of the faces he once loved, he can’t help but think how loneliness is what haunts him every day, with no reserve, with no compassion. It’s a torment, it’s a nightmare that controls his actions, that makes him close his heart to anyone. People around him either die or decide he’s not worthy of their attention anymore. There is no denying that.

He doesn’t know if Alexander will do the same. What he knows is that their relationship makes him feel alive once again; their connection invades his mind, letting him forget about his loneliness, about his guilt and weaknesses. All he thinks about when he is with the Shadowhunter, is that he feels loved. When Alexander is close to him, he becomes the centre of his world, the focus of his every thought, the reason his fearful heart beats strongly again.

At first, he was scared of that; now he just craves it. He wishes for Alec to be next to him every day and every night, to talk about their days and their jobs, to feel each other’s skin and light touches.

He misses him, yet he has no strength to reach for his phone and answer the messages and phone calls he noticed earlier, all by the same person, all by the beautiful man occupying his mind.

He can’t. Alexander would notice his sadness from his tone, the Shadowhunter too clever and attentive, and he would rush back to his loft, ask him questions, comfort him, tell him they will find a solution together.

But his time is ticking by. Yesterday, they avoided a disaster. Who knows what will happen today? Who knows who will get hurt tomorrow? Who knows who will die in this terrible war?

He has no time, not anymore. He needs his magic now.

He clenches his jaw, his hands curling into fists. He _has to_ get his magic back.

He inhales painfully when something sharp lacerates his chest. He drops his gazes and the first thing he notices is the blood. His right hand is gripping the handle of the dagger, fingers white; his left hand is clutching the blade, and a thick rivulet of blood is escaping from his fist, staining his wrist and robe. He tries to control his shaky breath while he opens the fingers of both of his hands; a long gash has formed on his right one, slick liquid flowing freely now.

It burns and stings, but his chest hurts more. The dagger falls from his open hands, and he hunches his shoulders even more, curving into a ball. The left side of his body is burning suddenly; his heartbeat is deliriously fast; he feels the wound expanding again, a savage cut tearing his skin apart, getting wider, lashing and reaching his shoulder and his collarbone.

He closes his eyes tightly, trying to focus his strength on his struggling breathing: he feels as if he’s under water again, like in the nightmare; there’s no air, there’s no surface, there’s nothing around him.

He doesn’t have the time to adjust to the pain because an abrupt breeze hits him, stealing the little air he managed to capture, absorbing all his remaining energy. The wind keeps punishing him, whipping him with his clothes, his hair falling onto his eyes. He finally opens them again, dazed, drained of everything inside him.

In front of him there is emptiness.

He feels the soft couch supporting his sinking body, but he can’t see it; darkness surrounds him until… there, in front of him, a soft fog is forming, the grey melting with black obscurity.

It lasts some seconds and he’s unexpectedly in his living room again, the familiar objects scattered everywhere, the soft light of the sunrise illuminating his home.

What happened?

He looks around confused, until he glances down again; his unsteady hand searches for his chest and a light contact confirms what he knows: the injury caused by the Greater Demon spread, slashing his skin. There is too much blood, the scent stinging his nose: his left hand is full of it because of the sharp blade of the dagger; his fingers are stained with it; his arm, chest and stomach are soiled in crimson.

It’s the same colour he catches with the corner of his eye; he raises his head, frowning. In the corner of the room, where darkness is still basking, untouched by the light of the burning sun, he can see two bright circles of red.

They are eyes, and they are watching him.

The colours of his apartment are changing: above the eyes, black hair is forming; beneath them, pale skin is showing. And suddenly, there, right across from him, he recognizes someone. His heart stops. The Greater Demon.

The breeze returns and the daylight disappears all at once. He knows he has to get up, to fight whatever is happening, to face his enemy, but his body is not responding. He can only stay there, sat on his couch, his limbs shivering uncontrollably, his blood flowing freely, his last reserve of energy devoured by those red eyes. The frantic beating of his heart is slowing dangerously, following the swift change of the images he sees.

The red dots are disappearing. There is only darkness, until a misty greyness forms in front of him, again. And where the crimson was just moments before, hazel is shining, calling him sweetly. He holds his breath, finally frightened. It can’t be. The Demon can’t know.

He’s lost again when his living room reappears, plunging him back into reality and his aching body. He looks around him, fearful, his heart beating too fast once more; he puts his hands on the couch, ready to stand, whatever energy he needs to use, ready to do anything if what he glimpsed is real.

But he wasn’t ready at all for the vision in front of him.

He’s dreaming again. It has to be a nightmare, because Alexander’s body is suddenly stretched in front of him. The blood is everywhere, tiny dots splashed onto his neck and face. His eyes are looking at him, but they’re void: there’s nothing inside.

He’s not even aware of the terrified scream escaping his throat, not even of his limbs moving, his tired and useless body falling onto the floor. He finds himself crawling towards his beautiful Shadowhunter, that empty shell the only thing remaining of him.

He’s too slow, however, because Alexander starts to disappear, little by little, inch by inch, even when he tries to reach him faster, even when another shout erupts from his dry lips.

The last thing he sees are his eyes: the hazel is turning dark, _too_ dark, until the green and brown are eaten by a menacing red, whispering, telling him something his ears can’t catch at first. And then nothing.

He stops his progression, kneeling, his hands resting on his carpet. He head lowers, facing the floor. He watches, unseeing, the colourful lines of his carpet, while scattered thoughts try to form again in his blank mind. He follows, detached, how drops of sweat escape from his chin, finishing their long journey from his temples and jaw to the floor, mixing with rivulets of blood gliding down his body.

The Greater Demon has a hold on him, because he has been stupid enough to hurt himself too many times. His injury seems to be a sort of connection, tying Magnus’s heart and soul to the Demon’s entity, wherever he is, whether in Edom or in the human world. And he knows about Alexander.

His spent mind finally comprehends the words whispered to him.

 _Come. Or he dies_.

A shudder runs through Magnus’s limbs, the memory still too vivid. How dare he? How dare he enter his home, threatening his lover, talking about death?

Magnus clenches his jaw tightly, his head rising towards the window. He finds the light of the sun touching every object, and he finally makes a decision.

He will go. And he will solve it. Because he needs his magic back to protect those he loves.

And he knows exactly where he has to go.

There’s something gleaming faintly just behind him. He turns his head slightly, his sight catching something: the black handle of the dagger is shimmering, a ray of daylight embracing it.

Yes, he knows where to go.

Pandemonium.

 

***

 

Alec is worried, _really_ worried.

He knew Magnus was upset when he got hurt, but he thought he made it clear that everything was alright and that his injury had been taken care of. He also knew that they had to talk about what happened, and he promised to do so, but he had to take care of the Institute and his Shadowhunters first. Magnus understood.

Yet, there is a sinking feeling inside his heart, telling him that something is wrong.

When Magnus returned to his loft, he had orders to give and a wall to rebuild. His phone, however, was always in his hand, the key to connect with Magnus if anything happens.

He finds himself writing a message, updating him with details of their situation, of how nothing and no one had attacked them still, of how his warlocks were doing a great job.

After some hours, still deep in the night, he is sitting on the stairs of the hall, Izzy forcing him to rest, and the phone clutched between his fingers, another message sent to Magnus, telling him everything is alright, and that he hopes he is resting like he deserves.

When he goes back to work, the last thing he does is send another short text, just to be sure, so that Magnus knows someone is thinking about him; that _he_ is thinking about him.

When the morning comes, and turns into afternoon, he starts to worry. Shouldn’t he have received something from the warlock, asking him questions, revealing that he misses him too, that they will meet at home soon?

Alec withdraws from the intense activity, hiding behind a column to catch his breath. And his fingers are dialing Magnus’s number very fast, this time the need to hear his voice too strong. He hears his heart beating fast, anticipation humming through his blood.

No one answers.

He tries to convince himself at first that it doesn’t mean anything; maybe he’s still sleeping. He looked tired the day before, his energy still running low after his injury at Pandemonium. Still... His gut is telling him something is wrong, and he promised himself he would always listen to it.

Thus, he hurries to Jace, putting him in charge of the last decisions to make; he grabs his jacket and tells Izzy he’s going to check on Magnus.

He runs from the Institute to the loft, stepping into a steady but fast pace, his hand finding his phone again, checking for any message or call. Nothing.

He is out of breath when he reaches his destination, his mind going through every scenario possible, hoping, however, that he is just imagining things, that he is just anxious to see him again, that the sadness and heartbroken expression he noticed yesterday on Magnus’s face was just heightened by his worry, tricking him into thinking about the worst.

He almost convinced himself when he opens the door, keys in hand, ready for an innocent kiss and a relieved laugh when he’ll see Magnus’s surprised and hopeful face.

Instead, he notices the chaos.

There are hundreds of books scattered around the rooms, surrounded by strange objects and magical potions. No one, however, is reading or using them.

“Magnus?” he calls, his voice carrying through the loft. Perhaps he’s sleeping?

He’s about to turn to the bedroom when he catches something on his right: a piece of paper. He stops in the middle of the living room, his heartbeat rapid again. His body moves without his control, answering to his instincts; and he finds himself there, in front of the table, a small rectangular white card waiting for him. Next to it, he recognizes Magnus’s ring.

His shaky fingers reach towards it while his eyes read the short, dreadful message, beautiful written words carved to haunt him:

_I’ll fix it._

_Love,_

_M_.

Alec’s words. He promised to fix it, and he didn’t. And now, Magnus is out there, doing something, _anything_ that can turn out to be dangerous for him, now that he has no magic to protect himself. And that’s because Alec let him go back home alone, even if he knew something was wrong.

The ring is cold. His thumb is caressing it, his index finger sliding through it.

He has found his home at last, and he won’t let him go.

He has a warlock to track.


	6. Fear in Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And then, his body void, his mind blank, he just lies there, waiting to die."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still angsty. Enjoy!

Although his body is being torn apart, what hurts more is his dying mind.

He can’t do anything but lie there on the ground of Pandemonium, his limbs unresponsive. Standing over him, the Greater Demon watches him, his red eyes gleaming avidly, his hands curved; five claws are piercing through Magnus’s skin, entering his chest, and bathing in blood, eager to reach his heart. The sound of his own frantic and loud heartbeat is the only noise entering his ears; around them, there is silence.

He has no strength to reach for his mother’s dagger, forgotten somewhere after their collision; he has no strength to rise his arms and fight the pressure on his chest; thus he just witnesses the destruction of his body and mind.

His limbs are heavy and detached, as if they belong to someone else. Inside, his blood is rushing through him, flowing out of the terrible injury on his chest, rushing up, entering his mouth and nose, to finally escape from his lips and nostrils, staining his white face.

His eyes can’t move either; his gaze stays fixed on the ceiling, unmoving, the soft light blinding him.

He is waiting for his life to end.

He fought, or he tried to, at least.

He didn’t know what could happen when he stopped walking at the entrance of his old club. He didn’t want to think about whether he would come out of it alive, or dead, whole again or still empty. There was no point in tormenting himself with the possibilities. He had one chance and he had to make it work. The firm hold he had on the dagger calmed him, as if the earlier version of his mother was there with him, the smiling and laughing woman, telling him he was a gift to the world.

Blessed or cursed, he lived and found his place in that same world, and he won’t lose it because of the schemes of an evil creature. The people he loves must be protected: getting his magic back was the key to everything.

He entered the half lit hall of Pandemonium with hope in his heart, Alexander’s warm presence in the back of his mind. He had to do this for the both of them. He wasn’t stupid, however. He knew the chances of actually succeeding were slim.

What would happen if he dies? Would someone miss him? Would Alexander regret the small amount of time they managed to spend together? Would he blame Magnus’s stupidity in rushing through this suicidal mission, only because of his magic? Would he forget him, and just go on with his life?

Magnus didn’t know, but the fear inside him was too powerful to make him reason, to make him realize that he needed help, that what he was doing was undeniably too dangerous. Still; he couldn’t wait. He had to fix it.

He had some seconds to adjust to the suffused lighting, darkness embracing the rays of the sun entering through the abandoned windows, before he heard an echoing laugh, surrounding him confusingly.

And the Greater Demon was there, walking lazily through the darkness, stopping right before the first glimmer of sunshine. His hidden face was probably lit by a mocking smile, his laugh dying slowly. Magnus’s heart contracted while his jaw clenched. He knew he would have to fight, but he hoped the Demon himself wouldn’t be able to show up. Yet, here he was, even after he had banished him back to Edom, even after he thought he wouldn’t see him ever again.

“Well, if it isn’t Magnus Bane.”

He heard the taunt in those words, the Demon haunting him already with the subtle meaning. _The crippled warlock, the weak High Warlock_.

“Your father sends you his regards.” There was a moment of disbelief: Magnus’s hand gripped the handle of the dagger more firmly, his features changing from tense to shocked.

He didn’t have the time to inquire for more, because the Demon moved with an unnatural speed, and he felt his body hitting his with too much force. He tried to hold onto his balance and he did the only thing he could without his magic: he slashed through the air.

The proximity made it easier for both: Magnus’s dagger found its target, the blade slicing skin and bones, a long and deep cut severing the Demon’s torso from hip to neck. He stopped his wrist and put all his remaining strength into his hands, now both holding the handle: he pierced through skin again, the dagger embedding itself in the creature’s neck, right above his collarbone.

But it wasn’t enough. His enemy had managed to clutch Magnus’s clothes with one hand, the other circling his throat while he was focused on delivering a death blow. And with another laugh, the Demon pushed, his power superior, his magic engulfing him in black flames, and Magnus hit the floor with his back, the pavement cracking dangerously under him.

He was choking. He put his bloodied hands on the man’s, trying to alleviate the firm hold on his throat, but it was useless. The Demon kept on laughing, a winning sound erupting from his mouth; he reached with his other, now free, hand the dagger buried in his skin and he extracted it slowly, the sound of flash being torn apart stopping his insulting laugh. Magnus heard the clatter of the dagger hitting the ground somewhere far after the Demon had thrown it away to get rid of it.

Their eyes finally met, and it was over.

Magnus saw two red dots growing in size with every passing second, and his surroundings suddenly disappeared.

He was back in his childhood home, discovering his mother’s dead body, the blade sunk in her chest. There was a blur and the colours around him changed, taking him to the death of Will Herondale, different from what he knew happened, the same dagger plunged in his skin. Seeing the face of his dear friend, young and beautiful as he remembered but empty of its usual vitality, dazed Magnus, the air leaving his lungs. The scenario transformed again without warning, and this time Ragnor’s body appeared in front of him, his eyes open and unseeing, blood still seeping through the wound caused by the sharp blade.

Magnus couldn’t defend his mind from the torture. Facing the death of the people he loved all over again was too much: dealing with them all those years ago took a toll on him, shaping him, forcing him to build walls around his heart and mind. And those same walls were suddenly rattling, the visions in his head destroying the protections he built during all of his life.

Even though seeing the features of the ones he loved most was consuming him, he still tried to fight. His mind lashed out, struggling to push the foreign entity from his thoughts, the presence of the Demon’s magic clear. And when he thought he was succeeding, another blur captured his sight, making him blind for a moment.

And the torment began.

The bodies in front of him kept on shifting: first, it was Catarina’s kind face turned towards his, her eyes void of life but still accusing him of not protecting her, even in death; then it was Tessa, her brown hair framing her delicate features, watching him from the other side, telling him he was too late; another transition, and Raphael was there, his body turning into black and red ashes, not giving him the time to look at him one last time, to remember his beloved face.

And in the end, Alexander’s hazel gaze appeared at the same time the dagger was pushed into his chest, the shimmering lights leaving his beautiful eyes, his soul never warming his cold heart again.

It was over. It was over the moment Magnus started screaming in denial, the moment he felt the Greater Demon’s fingers entering his skin, the moment he knew his mind wanted to give in, to settle into the darkness, to stop the anguish caused by those visions. Because it hurt too much to think about who he lost and who he will lose in the future, about how his life was ending in the same place where he had tried to hide his loneliness, opening his parties to anyone, hoping it would distract his empty heart.

When he has no voice anymore, he lies there, feeling the last drops of energy leaving his icy limbs, feeling his heartbeat slowing dangerously. The last image forming in his head, before it’s drained of everything, is the brilliance of two hazel pearls, embracing him with affection.

And then, his body void, his mind blank, he just lies there, waiting to die.

 

***

 

Alec is afraid. For the first time in his life, he’s utterly afraid.

He shouldn’t be foreign to fear: he has three siblings trained for war, two of them always in the middle of a battle. They are ready for something to go wrong. Or at least, that’s what he always thought.

He knows he’s being irrational. Maybe Magnus is safe; maybe he just found a trail of a powerful spell or a book hidden somewhere in New York. Maybe he’ll go back home soon, smiling sweetly at Alec’s confused and fearful emotions. Maybe.

Or he decided to face some demons, in the hope to find the reason behind the disappearance of his magic.

Alec doesn’t know and that’s what scares him the most. He doesn’t know if Magnus is okay, if he’s safe. He doesn’t know if he’s hurt, if he needs help. Alec knows nothing, and the mere idea of losing Magnus after meeting him, knowing him and living with him these past weeks, stops his heart and breathing.

It’s definitely the first time in his life he can’t breathe because of how afraid he feels.

It gets worse when he calls Catarina, asking her to portal him back to the Institute to start searching for Magnus. He is aware that he can move faster to one place or another through her magic; however, there is no way to learn when Magnus left his apartment. It may be hours or minutes since he wrote that note, and Alec’s mind freezes at the thought of him alone somewhere, hurt.

What if he can’t find him? What if he’ll lose him?

He doesn’t want to think about that, but his fear keeps on controlling his mind, even when Catarina reaches him and portals them to the Institute, even when Izzy’s tracking finally works.

She has just the time to announce Magnus is at Pandemonium when the signal of demonic activities resounds around them. Coldness spreads into his chest when they notice the high level of power and magic on their screen. It’s a Greater Demon.

At first, he doesn’t know how to react. His body stiff, he stands there, his gaze roaming wildly on the screens, trying to understand whether what he’s seeing is wrong; maybe there’s a mistake, maybe it’s a coincidence, maybe it means nothing. But there’s no error; a bridge from Edom has reopened right in the worst place possible: Pandemonium.

He hears someone calling his name but he can’t stop staring at the map in front of him, a red circle appearing and disappearing regularly, encircling the small building of the club. There is a faint ringing in his ears and his breathing gets more labored. He’s frightened. He’s terrified he’ll lose the only person who made him feel normal, who liked talking to him, who wanted to know everything about him, who loved experiencing new emotions with him.

It’s not fair. And that’s when his fear starts to transform into anger.

It’s not fair that, after years of hiding himself and thinking something was wrong with him, the universe had to intervene and take away the man he has chosen for himself, who he decided to let into his heart, who he wants to love. His hands curl into fists: it’s not fair, and he won’t go down without a fight.

“Alec!” He wakes up from his stupor when Catarina’s fingers close around his wrist, anchoring him. Her black eyes, glamour in place, are watching him worriedly, her own fear for Magnus’s life showing in her stare. He looks back at her, clenching his jaw tightly, finding someone who understands, who cares for Magnus as much as him.

“I can’t live without him.” It’s a whisper that escapes his lips, his mind forming the thought, the need to release it into the world stronger than his fear. Catarina catches it and her concerned expression softens, her eyes regarding him with tenderness. She knows.

“We’ll save him. I found a spell that will kill that Greater Demon for good; I didn’t think I would need it since we were sure he was back in Edom. But I have it, and we can help Magnus.” There’s a firmness in her tone and words that manage to reassure him even more. He nods slightly, showing her that he understands, that he’ll fight by her side to save him, that everything will be alright.

That is what he keeps on repeating in his head while they quickly get ready, taking their favourite arms and preparing for a strategic mission. The group is small but it consists of his best soldiers: Jace, Izzy and Clary; Catarina is right next to him, the key to reach the club swiftly and to destroy the menace once and for all.

Nothing can go wrong, he is sure of it; the only aspect against him is time. If it’s too late, if _they_ are too late, there’s nothing him or Catarina will be able to do. And that is what frightens him the most.

The preparations pass by in a blur, and he finds himself standing in front of Catarina’s newly formed portal. Brushing his right arm, he feels Jace’s body close to his, his blue and brown eyes looking at him before stepping forward, the fierceness of his gaze and posture comforting him. It’s a promise: his parabatai is telling him he will do anything in his power to save Magnus.

His brother’s strength is like an elixir for his worried mind. Alec grasps his bow firmly and he follows Jace, Catarina right behind him, everyone’s objective clear in their thoughts: enter, surround the place, kill the Demon, take Magnus away from there.

His newly found confidence shatters completely the moment he steps inside Pandemonium, surrounded by his friends and siblings. He hears his own sharp intake when he sees the scene in front of him.

There is a ray of sunshine kissing Magnus’s eyes and forehead. It shimmers faintly, its light not too bright to blind, yet, even from afar, Alec can’t help but notice how Magnus’s eyes are too still, his eyelashes not fluttering, his gaze noticing nothing. It’s just a second before he catches the multiple stains of crimson on his pale face, thick drops of blood streaming from his slightly open lips, others running freely from his nostrils.

Why? Why is he bleeding?

Alec’s confusion dissipates the moment his sight embraces everything else. There is a small pool of blood around Magnus’s chest, getting wider while he detects it distractedly. His gaze goes up, and he notices a black shadow crouched over his lover; there’s an arm stretched in front of it, its hands plunging into Magnus’s chest with no difficulty.

His first instinct is to deny. What he’s seeing is wrong, _wrong_ ; it’s a vision, it’s a nightmare, it’s not true. It can’t be, because if it is, it means he was right all the time, that his gut was telling him the right thing, that something was off without any doubt, and that he should have intervened before, by not leaving Magnus alone, by telling him they would search for the solution of his problem together, by revealing that he was falling in love even without him knowing it, yes, after mere weeks, yes, after meaningful nights of talking and breathless kisses.

It can’t be. Yet, everything he wished he would never see is right in front of his eyes.

He doesn’t need to see more; he hears Jace’s and Clary’s seraph blades being activated as well as Izzy’s whip slitting the air with a hiss. Catarina’s stiff body is right next to him while he hurriedly reaches back for an arrow, his bow ready, his posture adjusting for his aim to be perfect.

The Shadowhunters start moving carefully but steadily, trying to surround the Greater Demon; Alec, on the other hand, stays where he is, the string of his arrow already tightly curved, the tip of his arrow directed to the shadow’s heart. Catarina has begun whispering words in another language, her hands moving in front of her, the spell about to manifest.

It’s all he needs: he lets go of the arrow and he rushes forward while reaching for another.

The air around Magnus and the Demon blurs suddenly, the colours unfocusing in front of his eyes; his arrow hits a sort of invisible wall right before reaching its target, and it disintegrates in tiny pieces. There’s a blue and black crack right around the two figures, a lightening appearing as if warning them not to come near.

“You’re too late.” Even though he can’t see the Demon’s face, he hears the amusement and scorn in his voice and words, echoing all around them, entering his mind and latching onto his fears.

Izzy’s whip appears on Alec’s right and it slices through the wards without any problem; it twists around the Demon’s neck once, twice, and he sees the monster finally realizing something can go wrong. He tries to raise his head, his fingers still deep in Magnus’s chest, as if awakening suddenly, distracted while feasting on magic.

Alec catches Isabelle’s immovable posture and he sees her forceful pull: the Demon’s body hauls back, hitting the ground with a loud crash. The lightening of magic disappears at the same time and that’s the signal he needs to run without reserve.

He reaches the laying body in a moment and he kneels next to him, bow and arrow already forgotten, a shaking hand caressing Magnus’s waist, the other cupping his jaw, his thumb finding his cold cheek.

“Magnus?” Alec’s voice comes out strangled, his own breathing labored. He can’t look down, towards the gashing wound on his chest; his eyes can’t stop noticing the details on the other man’s face: how his hair is brushing his forehead softly; how there are drops of sweat marring his temples; how his skin is too white, ashen almost, as if he has been terribly sick; how his lips are not pink as he remembers but oddly cracked and tainted by a blue hue; there are dots of crimson all over his features, rivulets of blood streaming down his chin and neck, others escaping freely through his cheeks and jaw, staining his ears, and splashing onto the ground.

What alarms Alec the most, however, are Magnus’s eyes. They are still open, unblinking. The sunshine on them highlights their beautiful colour, a deep gold that he’s never tired of seeing; yet, he remembers the warmth and sparkles in them every time they were watching him, every time they observed him with pleasure. There’s nothing now. No heat, no glitter, no life. It’s an unseeing stare, two empty mirrors, the soul behind them lost.

A tormented sound escapes his throat while his fingers grip Magnus’s coat on his waist; his thumb draws circles on his cheek, trying to infuse some warmth back on his icy skin.

He can’t be dead. He can’t. The Demon was still draining him of his energy when they entered, and wouldn’t do so if there was nothing inside Magnus’s body.

“Cat!” It’s a howling and frustrated sound the one he lets out suddenly, his sight tearing itself away from those unseeing eyes, searching for the other warlock. He manages to see a rift behind him and the body of the Greater Demon starts breaking apart, blue and black cracks forming dangerously on his skin while his mouth opens in a silent scream, disbelief written all over his face. His body finally dissolves with a narrow blast of magic, the air shifting and hitting all of them with unexpected force. Alec leans and shields Magnus’s body with his, careful as not to touch his injury, but still trying to protect him from the cold wind and tiny materials hitting his back.

The gust of air dies slowly, leaving them in an eerie silence.

Alec rises slightly, turning his head toward Magnus’s. Nothing changed: his eyes are still open, oblivious to the world. Alec’s fingers touch his jaw lightly, and start descending, slowly, fearfully, on his throat. He needs to know, but he’s not ready, not ready at all. He presses his fingers, there, where he should feel his healthy heartbeat announcing that he’s alive, that Alec is worrying for nothing, that they arrived on time.

Seconds tick by, and the only thing he perceives is the harsh sound of his own breathing. His heart is cracking dangerously, the silence too terrible, too unnerving.

“Alec.” He hears is name spoken with Magnus’s beautiful and reassuring voice, but he immediately understands that his mind is playing tricks, because the man’s lips didn’t move. There’s a hand in front of him, however, cupping his jaw gently, turning his head away from Magnus’s. He can’t fight it, he has no strength left, so he meets Catarina’s worried gaze. “It’s okay, it’s over; let me heal him.”

He frowns, confused, and he finally notices how his body is still protecting Magnus’s defenseless one, his hand still gripping his clothes too vigorously.

“Hey.” Jace’s soft voice clears his dazed mind with no difficulty, and he finally lifts his trembling fingers, his torso leaving Magnus’s, his back falling into his parabatai’s arms, always ready to catch him when he can’t go on alone anymore. They stay there, both of them, kneeling next to Magnus, Alec’s arms lifeless on his lap, one of his brother’s hands gripping his to give him strength, the other caressing his shoulders, a reassuring gesture that usually manages to calm him.

Not now. He can’t think of anything, even when Isabelle and Clary stop right behind them, even when he follows Cat’s movement, her fingers hovering over Magnus’s chest.

They wait there for what feels like years. It’s taking too much time, it’s taking too much energy from Cat: he can see the strain on her face, her magic less brilliant than before, the spell to destroy the Greater Demon too powerful to leave her the strength to heal such a severe wound. It seems clear to all of them but he doesn’t know what to do; Clary, however, is the most clear headed of the group because she walks slowly to Catarina. She kneels next to her and offers her hand. It’s such an innocent gesture, but its implication doesn’t escape Alec’s fearful mind. It’s all Catarina needs, because right when she entwines her fingers through Clary’s, her magic regains its brightness, covering Magnus’s limbs with much more intensity.

Time passes, and finally Catarina moves. She lets out a long sigh, her body sinking against Clary’s. Isabelle is right there, steadying them both, smiling fondly down at them and then at her brothers.

Alec’s fingers clutch Jace’s tightly, needing his strength. He turns his head and his eyes rest on Magnus’s face. His eyes are closed now, his face more relaxed, even though still pale. He is still stained by blood, but when Alec’s gaze trails down towards his chest, he can clearly see smooth skin under the torn clothes. There are no gaping claw marks, no bleeding wounds, no frightful laceration.

“He needs to rest, but he’s okay.” How Cat understands that those are the words that he needed to hear, Alec doesn’t know. He just nods, disoriented, while still observing Magnus’s skin, as if he is waiting for the injury to come back and grow to steal his energy and strength, like the last time he got hurt. Nothing happens, however, and he finally sees the imperceptible movement of the other man’s chest, rising and lowering in rhythm with his shallow breathing.

He feels Jace’s arms circling his shoulders and capturing his body in an embrace. It’s all he needs to let out a long exhale at last, his limbs slumping onto his parabatai’s, hiding for a moment in the safety of his presence, trying to gain control of his mind once again, the fear still dominating.

 _You’re too late_.

 _He’s okay_ , she answered. He has to be; Alec needs him to be.


	7. Anxiety in Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What if he’s not okay? What if something happened before they arrived? What if the Greater Demon’s words meant something they don’t know?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are entering the second arc of the story. Let me know what you think!

This time he follows his instinct without a doubt.

Waiting for Catarina’s portal to open is torture; the only positive side is the fact that he can adjust the hold he has on Magnus. Alec is still kneeling on the ground, one arm around the warlock’s back, the other on his waist. Magnus seems to simply sit next to him, his torso on his, his head resting on the hollow of his throat. It reminds Alec of the long embrace they shared when they slept together on Magnus’s coach, his heat a blessing, his caresses a wonderful experience. Now, however, the other man’s body is limp in his grasp, his arms unresponsive, his usual warmth non-existent. What reassures him is the slow rhythm of Magnus’s breathing, his chest raising and lowering regularly, even if faintly.

The wait is just a matter of seconds, yet his mind keeps on making decisions: this time, there’s no way he’s going to let Magnus be alone in his loft; this time, he’ll be sure that Magnus is okay; this time they’ll talk about what happened and they’ll fix whatever problem they need to fix. This time, he’s going to convince Magnus that he’s part of his life now, and that they need to face things together.

It’s a promise he makes to himself, to find the time to talk with him and clarify everything, and while he does that, their group reaches the New York Institute using Cat’s portal. Jace is next to him all the time, helping him with Magnus’s weight through the corridors of the Institute.

Their destination is Alec’s room and he expects no refusal, his tone firm. No one answers, anyway: Isabelle and Clary leave them to make sure the demonic activity is finally depleted and that everything is alright; Cat and Jace help him carry Magnus inside his room and, finally, lower him on his bed.

He takes several steps back while Catarina sits on his bed next to Magnus, a hand caressing his forehead, the other resting on his heart to check whether the injury is really gone. Alec feels like he can finally breathe again: whatever will happen next, at least everyone is safe and it seems as if the worse is in the past, behind them.

He shifts his gaze and finds his parabatai watching him, standing next to the door. Alec walks towards him, leaving Magnus to Cat’s care.

“Go rest,” he whispers to Jace, one hand finding his forearm. He hopes he has enough strength left to convince his brother that everything is fine and that he needs to take care of himself.

He guesses he wasn’t much convincing because he feels Jace’s hand close around his, his fingers embracing his in needed support. “Are you okay?” It’s such a simple question, he knows, yet when he focuses on his brother’s brilliant eyes, the enquiry in them as well, he feels the need to share the turmoil inside his mind.

_What if he’s not okay? What if something happened before they arrived? What if the Greater Demon’s words meant something they don’t know?_

_How could he let this happen? He should have known, even if they met not a short time ago, even if they started seeing each other differently a few weeks before, even if they hadn’t talked about it directly._

_And why hadn’t they? He’s been so stupid: he should have addressed the problem, asked Magnus if he needed help, updated him on everything he and Cat found, told him every day that everything would be fine, that together they could find a solution._

Even though he didn’t utter a word, he catches the reassuring squeeze of Jace’s hand, his eyes watching him with affection, telling him he understands, that he knows, that he’ll be there when Alec is ready.

Alec lets out a sigh, and squeezes back. “I will be. Go, I’ll catch some sleep too.”

He sees the doubt in his brother’s gaze, but in the end Jace nods. Alec watches him glancing toward his bed and then shifting his attention to him again, one last time. They let go of each other’s hands and Jace leaves, closing the door behind his back.

“His wounds are healed. He just needs to rest.”

He doesn’t know why he is suddenly scared of turning around. Catarina’s words should be comforting, telling him what he should already know, that Magnus is safe and okay now.

Yet he feels something is wrong. He just can’t understand what.

“Alec.”

He sighs again, and turns at last.

The first thing he notices is how pale Magnus is, even if there’s still blood on his beautiful lips, even if he should feel better by now. He tears his gaze away from his closed eyes to find Catarina sitting on his bed, watching him with a soft expression.

“I’ll stick around for some days, so if anything goes wrong just call me, okay?” She speaks slowly and resolutely while she stands up and walks around his bed to stop in front of him. It’s as if she wants to make sure he comprehends clearly what she’s saying and what her words imply.

“Thank you,” he manages, his posture stiff, his tone strange to his own ears.

Cat doesn’t seem concerned and she just puts her hands on her hips, her face turning toward Magnus’s. “We need to clean him up, would you like to help?” She faces him again, her eyebrows rose to highlight her question, leaving him the faculty to decide.

“Of course,” he agrees hastily, holding onto the fact that he can occupy his mind with the task.

For the rest of the hour they focus on making Magnus comfortable again: they put a basin next to the bed and Alec washes his face with a soft cloth, careful as not to wake him up, although Cat assured him he will be out for good for the rest of the night. The sun is setting by the time they change Magnus’s ruined clothes; Alec puts the cover on his chest, hoping his sleep is as peaceful as it seems.

He then changes himself after Cat leaves, reassuring him he’ll be able to contact her if something happens. He takes a quick shower and he’s back in his room, stopping next to the bed, not sure what to do.

Night has descended and there’s a soft light around them from the lamps on his desk and bedside table. He takes a deep breath and he studies Magnus’s features again. He seems so different, so unaware, so young. His face is slightly turned towards Alec’s, his expression relaxed; his lips are barely open, his breathing regular. Everything seems fine; there’s nothing telling Alec something might be off; despite that he can’t shake the feeling that he missed something.

He leaves his concerns behind him when he sits on his bed, his hand reaching for Magnus’s face. He stops, his fingers in the air, inches away from his skin, insecure. He bites his bottom lip, waiting for a signal, for anything to tell him that it’s alright; in the end, he brushes his fingers lightly on Magnus’s soft hair, the gesture a relief for Alec. Magnus is real, there, in front of him. He’s safe.

Why was he so scared? Why _is_ he so scared of losing him? How can a person become so important in someone’s life in such a short time? Alec didn’t think he would find someone to share his feelings, yet here he is, taking the first steps into a new territory, discovering the same love he was so afraid of, the same love Izzy talked to him about all the time, describing wonderful and complicated experiences.

He feels the urge to go to Izzy now, to pour everything out of his heart, to understand whether what he feels is really what he thinks it is. But he’s sure he’ll find the time, sooner or later. For now, he will watch over Magnus, even if they’re inside warded walls, even if he’s just resting. He has reports and paperwork to go through anyway, and his room is as good a workplace as his office.

 

***

 

“...us, can you hear me?”

The sound that wakes Alec up the morning after is an urgent one. He doesn’t understand the meaning of the words at first and all he can manage is blink fast, the mild light of the autumn sun entering his room and illuminating it gently. His limbs are stiff from the uncomfortable position he fell asleep in, the same as the night before. He didn’t want to disturb Magnus’s peaceful rest, so he dragged his armchair next to the bed, a perfect place for his eyes to distract him with Magnus’s beautiful features and to see whoever might enter the room, the door opposite to him. All the reports and papers are scattered on his lap and around him on the floor, half of them read and checked, the other half still waiting for his attention.

He straightens his back, looking at a ray of sun touching a discarded page on the floor without seeing, before the corner of his eye catches something unexpected.

And he finally remembers the words that woke him up.

His head snaps to his left: there, opposite to him, Catarina is hovering over Alec’s bed and Magnus’s body, a hand cupping Magnus’s cheek, her magic a soft cloud around her fingers and his skin. Alec frowns, confused, while he notices Cat’s concentrated but apprehensive expression.

He’s afraid again.

Afraid to lower his eyes and see what is the problem, because something is definitely wrong. His mind is painfully awake now, his body stiff again because of the fear, his heartbeat accelerating dangerously.

But he has to know.

So he shifts his attention, and focuses on Magnus. Nothing has changed apparently: he seems still asleep, his body in the same position he left him in hours before, the cover resting on the middle of his chest. Alec’s gaze trails up, his breathing loud in his ears, as if he ran the whole night, as if his lungs don’t know how to work anymore.

And it hits him. Magnus’s expression is not different but for one detail: his eyes are open. And something is clearly off. Alec’s legs move and he’s suddenly standing without him even knowing it. He takes small steps forward, stopping before reaching the edge of his bed. That’s all it takes for him to notice what the problem is.

Magnus’s eyes are different. They are staring at the ceiling, unblinking, reminding Alec of the moment he found him the day before, laying on the ground of Pandemonium, blood on and around him, his soul and mind faraway, his eyes empty gems.

The colour is wrong. It’s not the usual gold: it’s not sparkling, it’s not glimmering with life and blinding him with its uniqueness. It’s dull and spent, like the yellow and brown leaves falling from the naked trees outside his room, autumn scattering all the vitality brought by the summer. The crumpled leaves blown away by the cold breeze, hitting the ground without anyone caring, are, however, dead.

Alec’s hands start to shake at the thought, the rest of his body tense.

He can’t be dead. He’s breathing. Nonetheless, the gold is different, _too_ different; it’s almost lighter than usual, reminding him again of dead leaves and not the warm sunshine in the morning.

“I need you to stay with him until I come back.” He hears the words but he doesn’t know how to answer to Cat’s voice; his body reacts by taking one step backward, a strangled sound of denial escaping his lips.

It’s a whisper. “The colour is wrong.” He didn’t mean to voice his thoughts, he didn’t mean to say anything. But the words tumbled out into the air, and now it feels like it’s real.

He knew it. He knew something wasn’t right the moment he found Magnus unresponsive, bleeding and oblivious to the world during the battle. He _knew_.

 _You’re too late_.

“Alec!” He shudders when he hears Cat’s demanding voice again. He turns his head and she’s suddenly in front of him, her hands on his arms, her dark eyes looking at him fiercely. “I need you to stay here with him. His body is okay and he’s breathing with no difficulty, so he’s not in danger. Something might have happened inside his mind so I need to check for something in my apartment, do you understand me?” There is an urgency and clarity in her tone that makes him straighten his back once again.

“Yes.” He curls his hands into fists, trying to put a hold on his troubling thoughts, his fear too persistent.

Cat nods back and she quickly disappears behind the open door, closing it after her.

They are alone in Alec’s room again, the situation this time completely different. All the positivity of the night before seems dissolved with his fatigue.

The silence is jarring for once, making him think of all the possible reasons why something bad is happening again. Yet...

Alec finally shifts position and takes some tentative steps ahead, reaching the bed. His gaze finds Magnus’s blank one again while he sits on the mattress, his back onto the door. Maybe it’s just a matter of time; maybe, when he won’t be looking, Magnus’s eyes will blink, their colour returning to its usual brilliance, his lips gifting him with the soft smile he adores. Maybe Magnus just needs to know he’s not in Pandemonium anymore, that he’s not in danger, that he’s safe and everything is fine.

Maybe.

So Alec raises his shaky fingers, his hands turning; his knuckles caress Magnus’s still cold cheek, his other hand curled tight to give him strength.

“Magnus?” He has to try. But he’s not surprised to see no reaction from the other man when he calls his name, his voice loud enough to be heard, his tone too hopeful even to his own ears. He sighs, resigned. “I’m here. You’re safe and everyone is okay. Come back.”

 _Come back; it’ can’t really be too late_.

 

***

 

He didn’t leave his room the whole day. He stayed there, sitting on the floor, his left hand grasping Magnus’s right firmly, his thumb drawing small circles on his cold skin. Alec stopped looking at Magnus’s face, the sight cutting his breath short, his heart clenching painfully in his chest. Instead, he stares out of his window while waiting for Catarina, his mind suddenly blank; he is too scared to think about the possible outcomes of the situation, and suddenly too tired to even formulate any good hypothesis.

He can’t erase what happened, so he needs to deal with it.

That’s what he thinks now, while he watches the sun setting again, Cat’s presence catching his attention all of a sudden. But he’s still too afraid to turn and look. So he lets her check on Magnus, sure that if she found something it will be helpful. The only thing he can do is hold Magnus’s hand tightly, letting him know that he’s not alone, telling him somehow that Alec is there, and he’ll wait forever.

“He’s sleeping again.”

Cat’s voice breaks the spell holding his frozen mind, and Alec turns to look at her trusted face at last, to shift then towards Magnus’s eyes. They’re closed now, the moment mirroring the quiet of the day before.

“Let’s... wait, okay?” He nods, choosing not to ask. He didn’t feel any magic coming from her so he guesses it’s better to let Magnus’s mind and body heal at their rightful pace.

They have all the time in the world, after all.

 

***

 

He wakes up because of an eerie sensation.

His body is tense once again, the places he chooses to sleep not welcomed by his long limbs. He’s still sitting on the carpet; his head is resting on the mattress, next to his and Magnus’s entwined fingers.

He blinks rapidly and he moves his torso off the bed, his shoulders hunched while everything comes back to his mind. He sighs, looking distractedly at the deep blue night outside his window. He doesn’t know what time it is.

He closes his eyes, trying to change his posture, bracing himself for what is about to come. In the end, he opens his eyes again, and he turns slightly.

And stops dead.

Magnus is awake and he is watching him.

The first thing that Alec notices is the colour of his eyes. It’s not the glittery golden he remembers, but it’s not dull like hours before; it’s a mix of both, the life returning slowly, the brilliance there but not lively as it should be. Magnus’s expression is different from what he expected: he’s watching him directly, and his lips are not smiling like he hoped, but are firmly closed. There’s nothing peaceful on his features now; his brow is lightly furrowed, his jaw clenched.

“Hey.” Alec whispers, afraid to startle the other man. His movements are deliberately slow, the muscles in his legs working and he is finally sitting on the bed again, his gaze never leaving Magnus’s, noticing how they follow him warily.

Something is wrong.

He knows it from the way their fingers slip from each other’s grasp, from the way Magnus’s eyes don’t leave his face once, from the way his body suddenly stiffens.

“Are you okay?” Alec can’t help himself but ask. And he actually expects the silence he receives as an answer. No matter what is happening, he thinks there is still something positive coming from the situation: Magnus is awake, his eyes more alive. Maybe Cat was right: they just need to give him time and he’ll be back to his old self, telling them they worried too much, that everything was under control, that he loves them too.

Alec closes his eyes, a shiver breaking the focus he put in his movements. _Not now. He can’t think of that now._

When he opens his eyes again, he meets the unwavering scrutiny of the other man, watching him with an unfathomable expression.

What is he thinking? Is his mind wandering too, his thoughts focusing on things he doesn’t really want to? Is he asking himself about love too, as Alec is doing? Perhaps Magnus is less afraid of admitting it; perhaps he knows what is the feeling that embraces Alec’s quivering heart every time an image of Magnus crosses his mind.

Alec is too preoccupied by his confused introspection to notice how his fingers are raising unhurried; he needs it, he _craves_ it, just a light caress, just a touch to make sure Magnus is there with him, even if he’s not completely okay, even if something is wrong. He tries to mirror the gesture of this morning, aiming for the other man’s cheek. He’s almost there when Magnus’s gaze snaps towards his hand, flinching visibly, his body moving backwards on the bed, escaping his touch.

His fingers stop, the shakiness noticeable by the both of them, even when his arm lowers heavily.

They are lost again in each other’s eyes, Magnus’s cautious gaze studying Alec’s stunned one. Minutes tick by, the silence too oppressive for Alec, his fear stealing all the thoughts from his mind again. He doesn’t know how to react, he doesn’t know what to say. He just keeps on watching the other man, bewildered by his reaction. Should he apologize? Should he ask what’s wrong? Will he even answer? Did something happen that he doesn’t know of?

He’s about to ask, gathering his courage. However, he’s beaten by the movement of Magnus’s lips, his voice hoarse but still clear enough.

“Who are you?”

 

***

 

Magnus had to ask, no matter the faint image in the back of his mind escaping his grasp, no matter the familiar features of the other man. He had to ask, because his head is too light: he couldn’t even form a single thought a minute ago, the unpleasant sensation dissolved by the man’s movement.

Now, however, he regrets it. He feels his eyebrows rise slightly when the man’s shoulders slump in defeat, the hope he noticed before dying completely in his beautiful and peculiar eyes, looking at him dazed. Is it fear the feeling he recognizes there, hidden in his expression? The same that makes his fingers shake without any reason? Is he scared of Magnus?

No, he realizes.

He’s hurt.

Magnus watches him, surprised, recognizing rejection and distress in those hazel eyes. And he caused them. Why? What did he say that was wrong? He had to ask. He...

Magnus’s sight blurs dangerously, his hands grasping the mattress cover with too much force.

He doesn’t remember. His mind is blank again, escaping all the answers he seeks.

Where is he? What’s happening? What happened?

 _He doesn’t remember_.

“Magnus.”

His head snaps right, a voice entering the thick fog inside his head. The questions disappear when he meets those eyes again, hesitant now. The man is still sitting on the bed, next to him, looking concerned.

 _Magnus_?

He lowers his gaze, noticing something. The man’s hand is open, palm up, near his, still clutching the white cover with too much force. He looks at it, confused; he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t know. Everything escapes him.

No, there’s... something.

The glimmer of the sun on...  _a blade_.

He inhales sharply, his hand shooting towards the man’s, his fingers finding his in a forceful embrace. An anchor. He needs an anchor.

He feels the other man’s hold on his hand, gentle and reassuring; he notices the shift of his body, but he can’t turn, he can’t follow it, his head hurting too much, a strong headache stealing his attention. He blinks several times, trying to gain control over his breathing and his thoughts, but he can’t.

He’s drowning, somehow, even though there’s no water around him, even though there’s plenty of air entering his lungs.

Something is keeping him from sinking. A hand.

His eyes focus again, the colours entering his sight. There’s a hand holding his, a thumb forming circles on his skin. A tug inside his mind: it feels familiar.

His heart misses a beat, a strangled sound forming in his throat. He can’t suppress a shudder, thus he clutches the hand stronger, feeling its warmth.

“Alexander.”

The thought breaks in his mind like a luminous lightning appearing suddenly in a cloudy, stormy sky. He glances up warily, frightened of what he will find, of what he will notice in Alexander’s eyes.

How could he forget? How could he?

But there’s no blame in the other man’s face. Magnus notices how Alec’s body slumps faintly, a long exhale following right after. Relief.

“I’m sorry.” It’s all he can manage, his strangled throat pushing those words forward. How could he forget his beautiful Alexander.

He doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to say; he just follows Alexander’s worried but relieved eyes looking at him while his body moves again. And all of a sudden, Alec’s hand leaves his; his arms circle his waist, his fingers finding the back of his head and brushing through his hair.

“Welcome back.”

It’s a whisper in his ear, the hope returning, this time in his tone and his blissful embrace, making Magnus notice how cold he was right before and how he missed _this_ , how he missed his Alexander and his tender love. He can’t answer, however; his heart is beating too fast, his mind bleeding with the guilt of forgetting, even if only for minutes, of this lovely man. So he puts his arms around Alec’s torso too, his fingers grasping his sweatshirt, needing to feel the flesh under the cloth.

It’s not a vision, it’s not a haunting image, it’s not a terrible torture.

It’s his Alexander, murmuring that everything will be okay.


	8. Halcyon in Brown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I tried to solve everything alone because I was afraid of losing someone. You."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff and angst combined. Enjoy!

The selfish, scared part of him doesn’t want to let go.

Alexander’s body is too warm, too safe, too strong, and his tired, blank mind doesn’t feel so foreign when he is so close. Magnus knows, however, that it’s not fair: time has passed since they saved him and Alexander is the Head of the Institute. He has orders to deliver, work to do, people to lead.

But he is still not ready to let go so he tightens his arms around Alec’s waist, his head resting against the other man’s neck. A blessing. He will be forever grateful for the silence surrounding them during those minutes; their embrace is talking enough, telling him everything he needs to know and reassuring Alec that Magnus’s mind is recovering, somehow.

He adjusts his hold when Alexander shifts slowly, and they’re both lying on his bed, their bodies still as close as possible. He feels the blanket covering his back and he sighs content, not believing they’re together at last. How he wishes he could comfort Alec in the same way the light caresses on his shoulder are, but his thoughts are too confused, his head aching painfully. In the end, after just minutes of heaven, Magnus’s tired mind collapses into oblivion again, his cheek resting on the other man’s chest, his heartbeat a lullaby.

He wakes up in the same position after what feels like seconds. He blinks, thinking he just closed his eyes without meaning to, but he notices the light entering the room is different: it’s morning. He turns his head slightly, his arms circling the warm body under his, and he finally looks up, meeting two guarded hazel eyes. They are watching him as if they are ready to get hurt again. Magnus’s heart clenches painfully at that view, and he greets his beautiful Shadowhunter with no reserve, hugging him again with all the strength he has, reassuring him that everything is okay.

He knows it works when he feels a light kiss on his hair, and he smiles, relieved.

“Are you alright?”

Magnus raises his head again when he hears Alexander’s sleepy voice. Always concerned about his welfare; he will never get tired of the man’s care for him and others; it’s surely one of the most appealing sides of his personality.

“I am now.” He hopes his tone is reassuring enough, and in case it’s not, he accompanies his words with a light caress on Alexander’s cheek, missing its softness. “I just need a shower,” he whispers, wrinkling his nose in fake disgust. He’s delighted to feel the soft rumble of Alec’s quiet chuckle under him, his body alive, their hold on each other never wavering.

“Good. I... have to take care of some things. I’ll come back as soon as possible, okay?” He knew it would happen but he can’t stop the small squeeze inside his chest, cutting off his air. Of course Alexander needs to go. He tries to hide his uneasiness by giving into one of his many desires: he leans in, and he steals a quick kiss, his lips seeking the other man’s without letting him capturing them. It’s a promise, it’s a distraction, and it works, because Alec smiles tenderly at him, shifting his arms and legs, and withdrawing from the comfort of his bed.

After he leaves, promising to return swiftly again, Magnus takes a blessed shower, recalling for the first time the tormented sensation the wound on his chest gave him. There’s nothing but smooth skin now, and he wonders about its disappearance. He has to ask about that as soon as Alexander is back.

Just the image of his Shadowhunter manages to scatter his troubling thoughts away and Magnus smiles fondly. Focusing on the positive aspects of his life is surely the key to face the future. Thus, he decides to keep his trousers but get rid of the anonymous robe he was wearing while recovering. He walks into Alec’s room again, shivering because of the mild cold of the season hitting his bare chest, and he stops in front of the closet. He opens it slightly, peeking inside, and then he spreads it wide, curiosity making him smile again. He turns his head left and right and, yes, he finds it. It’s an ordinary black shirt, but it reminds him of the first meeting of their cabinet. Alexander’s black shirt, then, had hugged his body perfectly and he still recalls the way he enjoyed studying him, his eyes feasting happily.

He puts the shirt on, inhaling the scent embracing him. Yes, much better.

He closes the doors of the closet and he turns, surveying the room. His eyes catch the bed; no matter his healed wounds, his headache won’t leave him, and he knows his body is still recovering because of the heaviness in his limbs and the fatigue in his movements. But just thinking of lying again, alone, makes him ill, so he turns firmly his back onto the bed, the window capturing his attention.

The world outside hasn’t stopped. He leans his shoulder on the window frame, his eyes moving rapidly to grasp everything in front of him. The sun is high in the blue, clear sky, its light not too bright nor particularly dull. Scattered on the ground, there are hundreds of leaves, flying around when touched by a light wind. The bright colours he sees remind him of Alec’s eyes at a certain light, the brown shining vividly, the green hidden somewhere as if waiting for the hues of spring to return.

He is lost in safe memories of his Shadowhunter and the dreamy observation of the street visible from the window when he suddenly feels two arms under his, enveloping his waist. A warm chest presses against his shoulder blades, and, immediately after, all of his body is delightfully mirrored by another, one he would recognize anywhere. _Alexander_. His own arms search for the man’s, his fingers caressing his wrists; he can’t suppress a shudder of pleasure when he feels a soft kiss on his left temple, Alec’s cheek on his hair.

He loves it. He loves that even if he is too distracted, his body craves for their touches whenever and wherever; he loves the safety he perceives when Alexander holds him in his embrace; he loves feeling loved. So he leans back, closing his eyes, his headache and weariness forgotten, his heart joyful, basking in the heat of their hold.

He wishes they could stay like this forever, enjoying each other’s presence, the only thing to focus on the view in front of them.

“What happened?”

He hears the words in his ears, Alec’s tone curious yet concerned. It’s time. He can’t hide forever.

So he opens his eyes and he turns, his arms brushing Alexander’s until they find his waist again. He keeps some space between them, however: he needs to face him and see the reaction in his beautiful eyes. He owes it to him. Magnus suppresses the urge to raise his hand and smooth the small frown on the Shadowhunter’s brow with his fingers. He hates seeing him worried.

“I thought–I needed my magic back. And I thought I had to solve everything alone. The Demon had different plans, clearly.” He tries to keep the conversation light at least, or it would be too much for him. He doesn’t have all the answers he’s sure Alexander will seek; he didn’t venture inside himself yet, to understand what actually happened in his mind and heart, to finally find out whether the missing piece in his soul is back or not. He is… better, without any doubt, but he doesn’t feel like his old self, his powers ready to answer, resting in his fingertips. Despite that, he doesn’t perceive the sense of emptiness and wrongness he did before; thus, something definitely changed.

He’s ready to explain that to Alexander somehow, even though it’s a complex topic to breach. He’s not certain he can describe well how his magic feels, and he’s concerned the real motive behind his actions will come onto the surface.

 _I tried to solve everything alone because I was afraid of losing someone. You_.

The same someone who is looking at him carefully and seriously now, no questions nor comments following his answer. Alexander is simply reading him in his uncanny way, his hazel eyes drinking in everything, as if he can read his mind, as if he can see his soul.

“Why? I – we – could have helped.”

Magnus feels the small squeeze on his back, fingers grasping his shirt. Alec is nervous. Nervous of the answer, nervous of the truth, nervous of what will happen. Magnus sighs and he tightens his old on his Shadowhunter in return. He didn’t face death to ruin everything.

“Because I need it to protect you.” He doesn’t specify who. He caught the meaning behind Alexander’s words but he’s not ready to know who would be ready to fight with and for him, the visions still too fresh in his mind. He knows, however, who _he_ is speaking about specifically. And he senses that the other man understands as well when Magnus sees his jaw clenching, a muscle jumping to catch his attention. It’s just a moment, before Alexander answers.

“I can take care of myself, you know. And if we really want to be clear on that, you’re my responsibility too, so you can’t go face some Greater Demon alone.”

Magnus’s eyebrows raise slightly, surprised. That’s... not what he expected. He thought he would be laughed at or that he would be dismissed with a doubtful comment; but that, he forgets every time, is what others would do. Not Alexander.

He also didn’t expect his next words. “I hope you got it back, if that’s what you want. But I want you the same, with or without magic.” Alec’s tone is firm again, his eyes looking at him with certainty, the shimmering brilliance in them entering his heart, waking the hope buried under fear and anxiety. Magnus will never forget this, he knows. If he will still be alive in the next years, he will always recall this halcyon moment, the embrace in front of the window during a late autumn afternoon, the promises of an optimistic future and bright days in their words.

He doesn’t know, however, how to answer to such a declaration, so he tries to convey his gratitude in another way: he leans in, his hand finding Alexander’s jaw, stealing a caress on his neck, and he captures his lips without warning, his love, his longing, his awakened hope in his touch. The response is immediate.

It’s not a tender kiss, nor one of curiosity and exploration. It’s a craving seeking, their tongues brushing urgently, their lips never leaving each other, wanting more, needing more. Their hands speak for them, Alexander’s leaving a hot trail from his back to his chest, his own delivering soft caresses on his jaw, the other lowering hungrily, lifting the hem of Alec’s T-shirt. Magnus’s fingers brush softly over his stomach, and move up, discovering every tender spot, making them both shudder expectantly.

There’s a bed right there in the room with them, he is aware, but there’s also time for everything, so he chases those lips one last time, before stopping his torturing caresses, leaning his forehead against Alexander’s, breathing the same air, his smile too wide, his heart too happy.

 

***

 

The only thing he can hold onto is the fact that he _knows_ it’s a dream. Yet he feels completely powerless.

It’s different from the vision caused by the Greater Demon’s magic, because there is a part of his mind that is telling him that reality is different, that everything is well, that Alexander is there. Camille, however, was right when she told him, months before, that the fear of loneliness is one of his greatest enemies. He absolutely doesn’t do well with losing the people he loves, and the mere thought causes a painful reaction.

A halcyon memory.

It’s escaping his heart, reminding him that the past is gone, and that he knew he would be alone again.

_Denial. He won’t go through this once again. He remembers the faces of every person he ever cared about, lost to time; and although he finds himself thinking about them when something reminds him of those days or when his heart feels particularly melancholy, he hates it. He hates the memories; he hates that he can’t go back and tell them something he never had the courage to; he hates the impossibility of changing his present, of seeing them once again._

_So the fog around him is only fitting. He lifts his right arm and tries to breach it, to disperse the thick greyness surrounding him, but nothing happens: he just brushes something cold and the dense smoke caresses him back. It’s impossible to pass through it, to go back, to avoid his loneliness. There is no rain, however. Sadness is always there whenever solitude envelops his heart, but he reached a point in his life when he simply accepts it. The feeling doesn’t tear his soul apart anymore: it’s just there, whispering old fears back in his mind, reminding him of his lonely days, making him imagine the future ones._

_Above him, the night sky is cloudy as well. The moon is there, hidden behind heavy black clouds; it’s a starless firmament the one above him, all the hope extinguished._

_There is nothing he can do about it, so he just walks forward, his other arm raising as well to help him keep his balance. Blackfriars Bridge is long and the ledge he is on quite narrow. Nonetheless, it doesn’t scare him: he has all the time in the world to walk its length._

_The problem is the silence. Nothing distracts him from his thoughts: the silence is his only companion. There is no one else who might take his hand, asking him to come back and continue living his life; no one cares enough to push through the fog and search for him. He’s not worthy, anyway._

_Thus, he simply keeps on walking, and he finally notices that darkness is covering everything like a heavy blanket. His foolish heart is murmuring that perhaps someone will be there, at the end of the ledge, to smile at him and tell him they were waiting for a long time; his mind, however, is laughing bitterly. Isn’t he there for a reason? It’s because there’s no one. They all died, killed by the dagger. He saw it, before the red light blinded him, making it impossible for him to reach them, to save them._

_He stops walking, a frown forming on his forehead. Red light? He lowers his arms while raising his face, his golden eyes searching for any light at all. He remembers two red dots. They were right there, in front of him. Magnus tilts his head, slightly confused, his gaze searching in the thick fog for the colour._

_He should be aware of something, something that he suddenly forgot. Something that has to do with the dots and the bridge. Why does he feel powerless again?_

_He is sure that he is close to finding the answer when something catches his attention. The red dots. He turns right, facing the rough waves of the river. He should follow them; it’s time. They were right all along: there’s no one waiting for him because they are dead, and he killed them all by not saving them._

_He inhales deeply and he moves his leg, his right foot breaching the fog. He closes his eyes while a cold breeze whips his clothes, waiting for the impact with the cold water, waiting to–_

 

He snaps his eyes open, his quivering heart loud in his ears. He has to blink several times to erase the terrible image of the greyness around him, of the wind hitting him.

He finally manages to focus on something: a door. It’s a deep brown the one that steals his attention, the wood thick and secure. A white frame embraces it, a nice touch of decoration. The normality of what he sees enters his mind, and he’s aware at last that it was just a bad dream. He’s still in Alexander’s bedroom, wearing one of his warm, long shirts, his scent all over him, calming his fearful heart.

A painful headache is the only difference after an unexpected short sleep on the armchair he found beside the bed. He really didn’t want to sleep again: that was exactly why he decided to sit there instead of lying on the bed, after Alec told him he had to go back to work, and that he would be just a room or a floor away if he needed anything. Magnus was tired of closing his eyes anyway, and the afternoon had been too beautiful not to keep living it. He wanted to wait for Alexander’s return, and he wanted to be awake.

He suddenly lowers his gaze, tearing it from the door. _No_. His headache is not the only difference.

Where is the book?

He took a book from Alec’s desk, full of reports and scattered papers; he wanted to read and distract himself while waiting, even if he was still tired. He really didn’t want to fall asleep and risk missing another embrace or kiss. And he opened the book, ready to occupy is tattered mind with the first page.

But it’s not there. It fell from his grasp while he was sleeping. But, where is it?

That’s when he finally notices the chaos around him.

The book is ripped, half of its pages wide open near the same door he was studying seconds before, blocking the entrance. The other half is scattered around the floor, its papers everywhere.

Alexander’s desk is almost empty: everything on it is dispersed in the room, most of the documents on the carpet, some resting against the closet, others on the bed. The latter is in disarray as well: one pillow is firmly tucked against the door, the other hit one leg of the desk. The blanket is under the bed, stuck in its corners and feet.

Magnus keeps on observing the havoc all around him, his mouth open, his expression shocked and confused. Why didn’t he hear anything? Something has clearly happened. Did someone enter? Were they searching for something? But why would they do that while he was in the room? And why would they tear the book apart, if it had no meaning?

Something cold splashes on his hand. He frowns and lowers his gaze, looking at the back of his right hand. There is a large drop of blood on it, the crimson reflecting the sun setting outside the window. He inhales sharply, conscious of his body at last. He raises the same stained hand towards his face, and his fingers brush his upper lip. They came away sticky as well, blood on them. His nose is bleeding.

He blinks, bewildered. His headache is stronger than before, his heartbeat too rapid. And there, in the pit of his stomach, the familiar sensation.

His magic is back.


	9. Uncertainty in Sapphire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He is anxious again. His body seems different all of a sudden, a foreign sensation inside him. He doesn’t understand whether he simply needs time to adjust to being whole again, or if his magic changed when it came back. He is not used to this: he is usually in control of his powers and body, but lately everything is slipping from his grasp."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another nightmare coming!

He stares at the havoc around him, unsure of what to do.

He is standing in the middle of the room, looking at all the objects scattered everywhere, the back of his hand still tainted with his blood.

He is anxious again. His body seems different all of a sudden, a foreign sensation inside him. He doesn’t understand whether he simply needs time to adjust to being whole again, or if his magic changed when it came back. He is not used to this: he is usually in control of his powers and body, but lately everything is slipping from his grasp.

His magic used to be a pool of blue, calm water in his mind, basking in the middle of his soul. He would draw from it with light caresses when needed, sapphire spirals whirling in response through his heart; and from there, they would swirl through his limbs, gaining strength in the tip of his stomach, the balance of his body, and then flow freely in his arms, reaching for his hand, fingers and fingertips, to shatter the air in front of them.

Now, he’s not sure. There are small waves in his soul, probably getting bigger and stronger while his body recovers, yet they’re not calm. He pictures a midnight blue radiating inside him: it’s a familiar colour, but too dark and deep for him to scrutinize and discover on the surface. He needs to immerse in it to understand but he’s too anxious. He’s afraid to sink, to drown fast, to lose his way back. Thus, he doesn’t venture inside himself; he doesn’t dare to close his eyes, right there and now, and call for those spirals. It’s better to wait until he’s more confident, when his magic won’t overwhelm him. Again.

Because that seems the cause of the chaos around him: his magic slipped while he was sleeping. There is no other explanation. Its absence had probably been connected to his demonic wound, and now that that is gone, healed by Catarina, the connection to the Greater Demon was lost, and his magic was free to return. He doesn’t remember calling it during his dream; nonetheless, it clearly escaped his hold, finally unrestrained. Perhaps, it needed some sort of release after so much time of being drained by another entity. Perhaps, it just needed to manifest this once, to announce its coming back.

Perhaps.

He isn’t convinced, so he just focuses on the task at hand, trying to ignore the dread inside him. First, he cleans the blood from his face and hands. He can’t do much about the headache at the moment; he tries to forget about it by tidying Alexander’s bedroom: he puts the documents back on the desk; he rearranges the bed and anything else that seems out of place. The last object is the torn book, and he clearly can’t fix that without his magic. He sighs weakly, looking at the wrecked pages in his hand.

Maybe he should just... tell Alexander.

He should have learned by now that facing things alone isn’t a great idea. What happened days before with the Greater Demon was clear proof of that. He doesn’t know what to say, and he tries to come up with the right words while he places the destroyed book on the desk, carefully, as if he is afraid it will break even more. He takes some steps back, then he turns, aiming for the door. It’s time to stop hiding.

He cracks the door open, glancing outside. The corridor is illuminated to clear away the dark shadows entering from the windows, night descending swiftly.

He’s not alone.

There are low voices echoing when he steps forward, closing the door behind him. He stays there, his hand resting on the handle of the door, right on the small of his back. He tries to discern the whispers, and he realizes they are coming from his left. He turns slightly towards that direction, his eyes trying to find those figures, his fingers never leaving the handle, its presence oddly reassuring. Alec’s bedroom is his safe place, and knowing it’s close to him, accessible and within reach, soothes him. He sees no one: they are probably hidden behind the corner in some other corridor.

He inhales deeply, ready to go the other way and find Alexander, when–

“He brings Downworlders here for his cabinet meetings; he disappears for days and then comes back as if nothing happened. What else will he do?”

“Still can't believe Alec Lightwood is in charge.”

“Just wait. In a week, it’ll be someone else.”

Magnus stops immediately, his arm stretched behind him, his hand clutching the handle with too much force. His head turns slowly towards the voices again while his jaw clenches painfully; his anger erupts suddenly, consuming all of his anxiety.

How dare they.

Alexander has been doing everything in his powers to fix the Clave’s problems by taking chances and actually doing something to change the wary situation they are all in. Even more, he risks his life every day to aid all the Shadowhunters and Downworlders in need, himself included. Yet, some of Alexander’s own people can’t even fathom to try to understand that, to see the benefits of the innovations in his decisions. They all judge, without knowing, without even caring.

He is tempted. Oh, he is so tempted to taste the reserve of his midnight magic all of a sudden, see if the angry colour of his powers would be different too, the red turning into crimson, a darker shade to reflect its intensity.

He straightens his back, his head high, and he walks to his left, eager and ready for the confrontation.

But he halts immediately after when the words resonate in his head.

_He disappears for days and then comes back as if nothing happened._

_What else will he do?_

People noticed Alexander disappeared for some time, neglecting his responsibilities. Magnus is sure he didn’t abandon his people, nor his Institute, and that his siblings helped; still, his soldiers perceived something and they didn’t like it.

It’s Magnus’s fault, isn’t it? He is already holding Alexander back at the beginning of their relationship, ruining his reputation, one that Magnus is sure he gained with hard work and dedication.

And that question is haunting him already: what else will Alec do to help him? What else will he be ready to sacrifice to stay with him and face his problems together? What else will happen indeed?

The voices disappear, leaving him in complete silence. His arms are loose and lifeless at his sides, his body strangely hunched, as if his shoulders are carrying a heavy burden. His eyes are fixed on the floor, unseeing, his mind too occupied by his thoughts.

What will he do? What _should_ he do?

His first instinct is to let Alexander go. He feels his limbs shudder at the thought, his heart clenching painfully in his chest. He leans his shoulder against the wall, the door to what he thought would always be his safe place right behind his back. He can’t be the cause of the other man’s problems; he’s sure the Clave’s rigid beliefs and some Shadowhunters’ closed minds are already giving him enough troubles. It’s not fair.

And Magnus is not in a good place right now. Even if they solved the situation with the Greater Demon, his magic may cause unexpected scenarios. He is not certain he will avoid danger in the future and if Alexander will continue to be a part of his life, his involvement will be inevitable.

What should he do?

Fingers encircle his biceps at first, and then glide on his arm, to finally find his hand. He straightens his back when he first feels the contact, and, in the corner of his eye, he sees a body next to his. His gaze trails up and he meets Alexander’s curious face when the other man stops in front of him, his fingers weaved through his.

Magnus feels his heartbeat accelerate. He is always in awe whenever his Shadowhunter is close to him; he inevitably needs some seconds to calm his wild heart from forcing him to rush toward the other man, his mind blank as if stunned by his beauty.

“Hey. I was about to search for you,” he says, and it’s the truth, but Alec probably noticed something was off. His raised eyebrows are mirroring the question in his eyes: why was Magnus frozen next to his bedroom door?

“Oh. Is everything alright?” He is watching him with his peculiar attention, and Magnus senses the concern in his voice; nonetheless, he smiles despite himself when he catches Alexander’s distracted eyes looking at his and then lowering to focus on his lips, and down on his collarbones showing through his shirt, only to move upwards again, too quickly, too guiltily. The man should definitely feel used to his presence and attention, yet here he is, a faint, red colour appearing on his right cheek and neck.

“Is... that my shirt?” There is a mix of emotion in his tone: there’s a hint of shyness surrounding the words, adorable to Magnus for its purity and innocence; there is delight, hidden, buried deep, maybe unconscious, as if he never thought he would see his clothes on the man he lo– _he likes_ –; there is surprise, most of all, because he is _sure_ it is his shirt, yet here it is, on Magnus’s body.

Alexander’s other hand is now between them, fingers lightly caressing the soft material, as if he wants to be certain. Magnus’s body shivers again, wishing that touch was delivered on his naked skin.

“Yes, it is. I wanted something that reminds me of you.” There is a smile on his face when he conveys the answer, and he wonders at the positive feelings that the other man is able to create in him, erasing all the pessimistic thoughts he was focused on just before. And he can’t help but tease a little, his legs advancing toward Alec, covering the small distance between them.

He loves everything about this: the way his body and mind naturally try to catch Alexander’s attention with compliments and light touches; the way his heart flutters happily when he sees the man’s reaction, his eyes going wide like now, the beautiful blush spreading uncontrollably, as if made by a painter’s brush strokes; the way he feels protective of him, already trying to discover new ways to show his affection, to make him understand how beautiful and important he is, to make him feel loved. Alexander deserves it, and he wants to be the one to show him that love can be wonderful.

And this is not fair, either. How can he let him go? How can he be selfish and selfless at the same time? The truth is that he wants Alexander, but he doesn’t want to ruin the man’s career or life. He can’t be the cause of another downfall; he has been the catalyst of his own family: no other deserves the same treatment.

So he does the only thing he thinks will solve everything: he lies.

“I wanted to tell you that I’m going back to my loft.” It’s partially a lie, anyway: he really wants to go back to his apartment; it’s just that he didn’t want to do so now. He sees the other man’s eyes snap back to his, seriousness coming back, a faint concern in his face. “I feel fine, Alexander.” He squeezes his hand to convince him.

He can’t tell him about his magic. If he does, he knows Alec will stay with him for the rest of the day, asking him how he feels, insisting on being there when he decides to deliberately use his powers again, telling him he will always be there whenever he needs.

He can’t. He can’t steal him away from his needing people once more. Alexander will probably discover something happened when he will find the ruined book, but Magnus will already be in his loft by then, and he will have enough time to come up with an excuse.

“Are you sure?” Magnus smiles at the question whispered to him, his soul warming. He’s finally been blessed with a good person. How can he let him go?

“Yes.” And he does what he thinks will convince him: he distracts. He leans in, their chest finally in contact, his fingers tightening through his, and Magnus closes his eyes, savouring the way his lips caress Alexander’s in a light touch. It’s just an innocent kiss, but it’s full of promises: he hopes his Shadowhunter sees what he wants in the way he’s looking at him now, their eyes so close, the rhythm of their breaths already unsteady even though it was just a soft brush. He hopes he can make him understand that no matter what he is hiding now, no matter what will happen in the future, no matter what others will say, Magnus will be there, the same way Alexander was there when he needed him.

Relief invades his heart when he hears the man’s words. “See you at home, then?”

“Yes, see you at home.”

 

***

 

It feels eerie to be back in his loft after what happened, and even more when it’s twilight.

He was fine until minutes before, when he was walking home, distracted by the people surrounding him, the lights and vitality of life continuing no matter the difficulties of every day. Yet, the moment he stepped into his corridor, closing the door behind him, he felt sadness creeping into his heart.

He doesn’t know what creates it, whether it is the sudden silence around him, reminding him that he’s alone once again, or the shadows getting wider and darker, the sun hiding too quickly, taking away the light that always gives him hope. Perhaps, it’s a combination of the two; nonetheless, all the positivity in his mind is disappearing slowly, extinguished by melancholy.

Nothing has changed. His rooms are still upside down, full of books and potions placed everywhere. He stands in the middle of his living room, unsure of what to do, his eyes seeing everything and nothing at the same time. His thoughts focus back on the conversation he overheard and his quick goodbye to Alexander.

Maybe it’s his fate. He will always be alone in his life, because that’s how it was decided when he was born. Sometimes he tastes the joy of a companion, feeling how wonderful it is to be loved, so that he can face the future years in solitude, again. Maybe he simply doesn’t deserve it: his demonic heritage and family destruction are sins he will never absolve.

He should definitely be used to it; he’s old enough. He was actually used to it – he closed himself off to anyone for a hundred years – until he met Alexander.

And the wound in his heart reopened, reminding him why he so craved for affection in the past, whispering that maybe happiness is still reachable if he loses himself in those hazel eyes.

There is nothing he can do about it. He has to live day by day and wait to see what will happen. If their relationship keeps growing, he will need to be sure to not be an obstacle in Alexander’s life: he wants to – he has to – provide support, to be there to help, to be the lover he wants beside himself as well. The moment he notices he is a burden, he will leave: he won’t be the reason for those muttered conversations in their Institute. He won’t add another sin to his demon soul.

He sighs warily, his mind set. He should eat and rest, but the disorder around him reminds him of what happened days ago, thus, he decides to put everything back in place.

His heartbeat increases when a possibility enters his thoughts. He can use his magic to fix his home.

He stands taller, head high, and he raises his right arm, spreading his fingers. He directs it toward the pile of books resting on his couch, his mind clearing, his determination taking control. He has been cowardly enough for today.

He closes his eyes, sadness and shadows finally fading. He finds the midnight blue lake inside him with no problems, his magic ready, almost eager. He surveys it, not touching it yet, observing its every angle, trying to understand whether there is the possibility for him to actually drown, like he imagined, or if it’s finally safe, even if a bit rough.

There is an edge to it: it reminds him of the first time he called for his powers. A long time has passed since that day, but he will never forget the sensation inside him: something simply clicked, and he felt whole, even though he never thought something was missing in his life. Still, he felt complete, his body feeling like _his_ , as if his soul was finally awake. He wasn’t looking at himself from the outside anymore, like a foreign observer: he was living, alive from the inside, in control of his limbs, of his heart, of his soul.

He felt different and stronger at the same time, and this is exactly how he feels now. He discovered his magic once, he can do it again.

He inhales deeply and exhales carefully, and he finally dips into the lake, just a soft touch, just a whispered call, his desire clear in his mind.

His magic answers immediately as he imagined it would, more powerful, almost greedy to taste freedom once more. Its spirals are warm in his chest, licking their way through his blood and skin. And they’re quickly there, on the tips of his fingers.

Magnus snaps his eyes open, feeling them burn. There is a brilliant colour in front of him, emanating from his spread hand. Its hue is darker than it was, sapphire mixing with navy, but he is ready to see it changed, ready to face it and dominate it.

He lifts his other arm, and they both rise at the same time, his fingers directing his magic, the deep blue covering everything around him. He grits his teeth when the soft smoke of sapphire gets thicker, blue flames shaping suddenly, the spirals pulling forcefully from the source inside his soul, his control slipping dangerously.

Too strong, as he imagined.

He closes his eyes again, breathing through his nose. He fights without restrain, trying to untangle himself from the waves he is immersed in, seeking for the surface. He succeeds without much difficulty, cutting the whorls spreading through him. They lose intensity immediately after, dying completely after some seconds.

He exhales heavily and opens his eyes, his arms lowering.

Nothing has been destroyed. His home is tidy and clean once again, the books back on their shelves, his ingredients and spells in safe places. He did it.

He smiles bitterly. Not bad for a 400 years old warlock.

 

***

 

Something about sleeping makes him nervous.

It’s late, morning replacing the night hours, and he should definitely lie on his bed and rest. He ate, he showered again and changed his clothes, Alec’s shirt resting on his pillow, hoping his scent is still present to lull him into oblivion.

Maybe it’s loneliness embracing him again, maybe he just likes feeling alive while being awake, his balcony the best place to forget his thoughts while observing the sky and New York under him, half of the city sleeping, the other still active.

But after hours of chillness, he needs to go back inside. The hope of seeing Alexander entering his door died some time ago; his mind is happy knowing that the man is living his life, whether being the leader he needs to be, sleeping on his welcoming bed or being with his siblings; his heart, however, is beating slower, sad and alone. He is okay with it, anyway: he made a decision.

So he turns, entering his living room again; he closes the balcony doors, and he aims for his bedroom, resigned to lie in the dark and hope for oblivion.

He never reaches it.

He is turning left, taking a quick glance at the closed door of his loft when he hears a soft noise coming from that direction, and–

 

_He is looking at the curved stone in front of him, the arched door enormous if compared to his tiny body._

_It’s cold, and he’s been staring at the entrance for too long. But he’s scared and he doesn’t know what to do._

_He is sure it’s the right way. Actually, it’s the_ only _way. He has nothing left. His mother is gone; his stepfather is with her now. And all because of him._

_He never knew loneliness. There was always someone next to him: if it wasn’t his mother smiling lovingly at him, it was his stepfather, his silence more prominent, his hate never present until that day; if he wasn’t there either, his cats would play with him, running wildly in the garden._

_He never knew being lonely could be so painful. There is no one but his mind. There is no one he can talk to, no one he can ask how to continue his life, no one who can explain to him why does he have that hateful magic, and why he is the only monster still alive._

_There is no one but the Silent Brothers._

_He learned they help people like him, but he’s not sure. He doesn’t know what to do. Should he enter and see? But what if he kills everyone inside as well? What if they kill him because of what he is? What if they hate him, like his stepfather before dying, condemning him for causing his mother’s death? Would it be worse than being alone?_

_No, it wouldn’t._

Don’t cry.

_He takes a step back, his breath itching in his throat when he hears a foreign voice in his mind. And suddenly there is a tall, tall man in front of him, standing at the entrance of the supposed safe haven. He is the scariest person he has ever seen: his lips and eyes are sewn shut, his hands peeking from his grey cloak, too big and robust._

_He should be frightened, but, although the man’s – the Silent Brother’s – face is impassive, his words and tone were soft and sad, as if he… knows._

_And Magnus realizes he has really been crying when he feels the heavy drops of his tears leaving his chin and hitting the ground under him with an echoing sound. He can’t stop them, nor his weak hiccups; his small hands close into fists, his arms trembling while he tries to stop crying, to stop being weak, to stop being an abomination._

Come. It’s safe. We’re going to teach you.

_He watches the Silent Brother stepping aside, the door wide open behind the man’s back. In front of Magnus there is a black hole, no light or shapes in it._

_He presses his lips firmly together, and he raises an arm, cleaning his face from the tears with his sleeve, a hurried back and forth movement on his eyes._

_He is ready._

 

He can’t see. Perhaps, he is still trapped in his memory, the black hole eating his sight. He hears, however, a pained sound: there is someone breathing heavily, as if they had been drowning moments before, and they managed to reach safety just now. They are trying to grasp some air but it’s not working: the breathing is labored, the sound making his heart shatter.

It’s him.

He realizes it’s his own breathing when his eyes start to work properly again, the blackness in front of him changing colour, a grey mist losing its colour. He feels his arms all of a sudden: they are resting on the floor. He is crouching on it, almost lying; there is no strength in his legs, but his body is trying to rise nonetheless, driven by instinct.

He just can’t. All the energy he gained back by resting these days is gone; he feels drained, exhausted. His arms are shaking too much, and his body just gives up: he stops moving, his hands in front of him, closed into fists like in his memory, his legs buckled under him, his head the only part of himself not resting on the floor.

Everything is finally crystallizing again: the fog is disappearing, the floor materializing in front of him. He sees other colours again, and at the same time he hears something else besides his harsh breathing.

The moment after, hands touch his cheeks, turning his head, and his gaze meets wild hazel eyes. Fear is shining through them, mingled with anguish. He feels the warmth of the man’s hands on his cold face, and he suddenly remembers.

“Alexander.”

It’s a broken sound the one escaping from his lips, but at least his voice still answers to his will. He has no control over his body, however, and he can only watch Alexander’s expression change, resolve insinuating between the alarm and concern he noticed before. Magnus catches the shifting in the other man’s body, and he feels it under his, one arm circling carefully around his waist, moving him. And he is finally sitting on the floor thanks to Alexander’s strength, leaning heavily against him, his lungs still troubled.

“Are you okay? Where are you hurt?” Magnus hears the Shadowhunter’s worried questions but he doesn’t understand, nor he knows how to answer.

They stay there, both sitting, waiting for his body to stop swaying with fatigue, for his limbs to stop shuddering so much, for his head to clear slightly, a strong headache clouding his thoughts. In the meanwhile, he tries to lift one hand, and he knows he succeeded when he feels Alexander’s hand leaving his cheek and capturing his trembling fingers, his hold strong and reassuring. Magnus lowers his eyes, needing to look at the connection, to know that Alec is really there, and he is not alone anymore. However, instead of their entwined hands, he sees something else that stops his heart.

Blood.

There is blood on Alexander’s fair skin: his fingers and palm are full of it, as well as his own backhand. There is blood on the floor too, in the same position he was lying on moments before.

He clutches the man’s fingers in a tight grip while his other hand slowly rises towards his face.

“Magnus.” There is a warning in Alexander’s voice, because he already knows what he will find.

He doesn’t stop.

Magnus’s fingers lightly touch the skin above his upper lip, in the exact way he did that same morning. He immediately senses the sticky liquid, and even though he shouldn’t be surprised to see it, his heartbeat quickens dangerously when he follows his hand lowering onto the floor again.

It’s stained with rich copper.

He is bleeding from his nose again.

He doesn’t know what to do. His mind is suddenly blank, and he feels like a child again, lost like he was while observing the entrance of the Silent Brother’s shelter. The only thing anchoring him is the strong hold on his waist and hand, Alexander’s presence reminding him that he is still alive, that he didn’t lose himself. But he can’t meet those eyes again, the emotions in them cutting him deep.

He doesn’t fight the blessed sensation he feels when the other man’s body shifts again, mirroring his, and he is engulfed in a firm embrace, Alec’s chest on his, his arms on his back, a hand softly massaging the back of his neck.

He closes his eyes, focusing on Alexander and his blissful touches, resting his cheek on his, his energy completely spent.

“Are you okay?” He realizes he didn’t answer the Shadowhunter’s questions, so he fully leans on Alexander’s body, one of his hands grasping the cloth on his waist.

“Yes.” _Now that you are with me, now that you found me._

Magnus opens his eyes, ready to tell him that when he sees the chaos around him. There are pieces of furniture on the floor, exactly in front of him; there, on the left, his mirror shattered, leaving gleaming cracks on the ground; on his right, his old table is split in half, the wood completely ruined.

He blinks, refusing to continue his observation, knowing well what he would find: the same destruction and disorder he found this morning in Alec’s bedroom.

His magic is out of control.


	10. Devotion in White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why did you lie?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know when I'll update again. I'm not inspired these days, and the next chapter is still unfinished. I'm sorry.

“Why did you lie?”

He tightens his hands on the bloodied towel when he hears Alexander’s question. He keeps on staring at the dots of red tainting the cloth, the same he used to clean his hands and face after the other man fetched it in the bathroom.

He closes his eyes, unable to focus on all the blood anymore, and he tries to gather enough courage to face Alec and his rightful hurt tone.

Magnus holds his breath and opens his eyes, searching for the familiar face. And there, clutching another clean towel, standing in front of him, Alexander is watching him with a guarded expression. Magnus’s heart shatters when he notices all the emotions swirling in those beautiful hazel eyes. Concern is the most dominant feeling, replacing the wild fear he first glimpsed when Alec had found him lying on the floor. There is still alarm surrounding the worry, as if Alexander is waiting for him to start bleeding again, to lose his balance once more even if he’s sitting on a whole chair, one his Shadowhunter found in another room, untouched by the havoc he had caused. Magnus would already feel guilty if these were the only two emotions changing Alec’s posture, his limbs stiff, his jaw painfully clenched while waiting for his answer. But they are not.

Sadness is covering the brilliance of the green and the brown shades in his eyes, extinguishing their light, making them cloudy. Alexander is hurt. He is hurt because of _him_. Coldness seeps through Magnus’s limbs, forcing them to shiver.

He lied. He decided deliberately to hide that something is indeed wrong, that his magic is different and scary, that he feels lost even though he should feel whole and content again. He lied, because he wanted to protect Alexander’s life and because he was scared to lose him. How many times can a person face someone else’s problems before they lose their patience and leave?

He has been stupid, again. Didn’t he learn? He thought he already established that Alexander isn’t like his other lovers. And he knows, with a painful clarity, that if their roles were reversed, if Alexander was the one being hurt and in need, Magnus would be the first one by his side, helping him however he could, making sure that he felt loved, showing that he wasn’t a burden at all. Nothing else would be important.

Magnus’s shoulders drop, his body hunching forward, melancholy stealing the energy he managed to rebuilt in the last few minutes. His eyes lower too, his gaze finding the stained floor.

Loving with such intensity is probably one of his most tormenting curses. He loves his beautiful Shadowhunter: he loves him the way he always hoped he would love someone, the way he tried so many times in the past, searching for the soul mirroring his. However, he is not sure of the other man’s feelings. Perhaps, for him it’s just an infatuation, the excitement of having a relationship. Perhaps he likes Magnus, and he will stay until the day he gets tired of him.

But love him? He knows someone actually loved him before, yet it wasn’t the same intense love he is feeling right now, the one he always wanted, the one he always craved. It was a fleeting love, dictated by the moment, and it dissipated quickly when something in the relationship changed, when circumstances started to shift, when it wasn’t easy anymore.

Alexander proved his feelings are stronger and truer than any of his past lovers; despite that he doesn’t want to deceive himself. Because if he convinces himself of Alec’s honest feelings, the day he will discover that what he imagined isn’t real, his heart wouldn’t recover. _He_ wouldn’t recover.

So it’s better to expect the worst: Alexander doesn’t love him, and he’s hurt because Magnus lied and didn’t trust him enough, not because the person he loves hid such an important matter from his soulmate. There is no other explanation; there is no possibility that someone may love him with all their being. He resigned to that a long time ago.

That doesn’t mean he can’t hope, nor that he can’t desire it. He always thought his soulmate was out there, somewhere in the world. But he stopped searching: it was too painful. And now, Alexander Lightwood entered his life, and he is certain he doesn’t even need to start searching anymore. He found the one.

There is a warm hand on his bent knee, and Alexander is suddenly kneeling in front of him. He takes the towel from his hands, stealing it from his too forceful grasp, and he puts it behind his chair, hidden from his sight. Magnus’s fingers feel cold and weak now that they’re empty, but it’s just for a moment before Alexander’s rest on them, weaving through his.

They are just touches; nonetheless, their power is immense. The hand on his knee is an anchor, telling him that he’s not alone anymore, that something bad happened, yes, but it’s in the past, and it’s time to face it, with no rush and no fear. The hand holding his is a promise: whatever happens, whatever they feel, they stand in this together. There is still hope. Didn’t they say to each other that relationships take effort? _This_ is the effort. And Magnus needs to make it work.

“You sacrificed enough. If I told you, you would have stayed with me instead of being there for your people. I can’t ruin your life.” He squeezes Alexander’s hand, hoping he perceives the honesty in his words.

He raises his gaze, ready to face whatever is about to come. Did he ruin their relationship? Will Alec be offended by his cowardice? He would understand if he decides to walk away. He doesn’t deserve anything at the moment.

He is ready for the blow, but Alexander just sighs and squeezes his hand back. His shoulders relax visibly, and the hurt in his eyes melt away, a bitter smile forming on his face. Magnus’s free hand curls into a fist. _Don’t hope, don’t hope, don’t hope_.

“You are _not_ ruining my life. Don’t you understand? I’m not okay if you’re not okay.” How can he always say the right thing? Alexander’s words are sincere and firm; his gestures confirming everything he says, the caresses on the back of his hand reassuring. Those are the moments when Magnus doubts. No one would talk or behave like that if they weren’t in love, would they?

Magnus doesn’t know, and he doesn’t dare to ask. So instead of voicing his doubts, instead of calming the rapid beating of his heart, he does what he thinks is right. “I’m sorry. I didn’t... mean to hurt you.”

Alexander’s smile grows, the bitterness dissolving. Magnus exhales slowly, a heavy weight disappearing from his shoulders. He didn’t ruin everything after all. “It’s okay. Just... promise me you’ll tell me if things ever get that bad again.”

“I promise.”

 

***

 

His living room and corridor are, for the most part, destroyed. The havoc is everywhere, his furniture non-existent or ruined. His magic burnt and cracked all the objects it found around him, saving the other room since they were too far from him.

They are both surveying the chaos surrounding them; Magnus managed to stand again and change his clothes after some minutes of resting. His nose is not bleeding anymore, and the world stopped swaying. His head, however, keeps hurting, a loud and regular _thud_ hammering inside.

“I... found the ruined book. How many times has this happened?” Alec is still turning slightly, watching everything around him. Thus, Magnus has the time to forget about his ravaged home and longingly gazes at his beautiful Shadowhunter.

“Only twice. This morning in your bedroom while I was sleeping, and now.” He catches Alexander’s frown, his body shifting again, this time towards him.

“Were you awake this time?”, he asks while he walks, erasing the distance between them.

Magnus’s eyebrows rise, thinking about what happened. He didn’t before, too scared to be trapped in his negative emotions. “I was… lost in a memory. It felt like I was dreaming.”

He shudders, recalling those visions. It was like he was trapped in his younger body, his mind reliving those moments, the ones he hoped he forgot, the ones he tried to bury under new experiences and emotions. They resurfaced, stronger than before, reminding him of the loneliness and sadness he felt and still feels, sometimes, when he can’t see the beauty of life. Is there a connection between them and what is happening right before? Or is it just his mind playing tricks, torturing him for neglecting his health?

Alexander is standing in front of him, their bodies close but not touching. Magnus is about to fix that when the other man, practical as always, asks him something crucial. “Do you want to call Catarina?”

Magnus stops, his sight blurring suddenly. He can see how it would go. Catarina would come swiftly, leaving all her duties, her job, her life, and storm here, chastising him for not sharing with her what happened. She would tell him at length what a fool he is for facing everything alone, that she will help for sure, that Raphael would help too if–

“No.”

He hoped he could deny it with more strength, but his voice is just a whisper. There is too much guilt inside him; he simply can’t. He’s risking Alexander’s career already; the man is modifying his habits, adapting to Magnus’s needs. He can’t let Catarina do that too.

“Hey.”

How does Alexander always know what he feels? Does he read his mind, or is he just able to decipher his reaction from his posture and words? Magnus doesn’t understand but he wonders every time. This is one of the things that convinced him: Alexander has to be _the one_. In his dreams, his soulmate would always know what he feels, and they would also know how to respond. Alec does that during every moment they are together.

“I understand.” Two words, accompanied with a gesture he will never be tired of: Alexander’s fingers grasp his, their hands entwined between them. Magnus looks at their joined hands before raising his eyes to watch the man standing in front of him. “But we need to ask for help.”

His heart skips a beat when Alec lifts both of their hands, Magnus’s turned towards him. It lasts a second, but it’s like time has stopped: Alexander’s lips touch the back of Magnus’s hand, a light kiss branding his skin, the heat of the gesture piercing his soul.

“How are you real?” He didn’t mean to whisper those words, but his mind is too distracted, his heart thudding happily inside him. He knows the other man caught what he said when he starts laughing, his face shimmering with the beauty of his smile, his hand cupping Magnus’s neck while his chuckle dies away.

“How are _you_ real?” Alec’s tone is light, teasing him with the same words.

Magnus watches him, drinking in his beautiful features, the way his eyes changed completely from the way they were almost an hour ago. Pain and sadness disappeared completely; joy is gleaming now, no matter the difficult situation they found themselves in, no matter the problems and the lack of solution. Alexander seems to be happy because he’s here with Magnus, together, enjoying each other’s touches, tenderness in their words.

It’s all that he needs.

He lets go of the man’s hand, and he puts his fingers on Alexander’s chest, clutching his sweater with too much force. A light pull, and his lips seek the Shadowhunter’s hungrily, needing to feel alive again, needing to know that Alexander is his, and nothing, no wild magic, no dead Demons, no fear will tear them apart.

They had their share of kisses: the first innocent one, to confirm their mutual feelings; the second full of discovery, long and satisfying; the third dictated by longing and desire.

But this has a different meaning: it’s everything Magnus wants to ask but doesn’t dare; it’s all he feels inside; it conveys those emotions sparkling in his heart whenever he thinks of his Shadowhunter. He imagines his soul full of colours now, chasing one another; however, there is a brilliant hue covering them all: white. It symbolizes Alexander’s perfection, the light and innocence he brings into his dark life, the goodness in his actions. It’s a warm and blinding colour, one he’s not used to, one he wants to know better, that he desires to see every day in his life.

He hopes, he tries with all his might, to declare everything that is inside his mind with that kiss, so he puts all his strength and affection into it: in the way his lips seeks Alexander’s, in the way the strokes of his tongue eagerly seek for his mouth. He tries with the last reserve of his energy, and he leans in, his body fully in contact with Alec’s, his hands the only thing in between them, merely because he needs an anchor, or his dizziness would conquer him.

And he wants to laugh in triumph when he feels the man’s response, his firm and beautiful body pushing his, one of Alexander’s hands finding his waist and lifting his shirt. The first contact of his warm fingers is a delicious shock, and he almost loses his balance when his hand trails up, caressing his stomach and side, _lifting_ , _lifting_ , while his other hand finds his hip, pulling his body against him hungrily.

It’s a wild kiss, full of sounds of pleasure, of their heads turning to better seek one another, and when Magnus thinks he lost himself, his back hits the wall, and he’s delightfully trapped between it and Alexander’s lively body.

He doesn’t remember coldness and he never will: the heat blazing inside him is too much and he needs to release it with greedy caresses and lazy kisses.

So he mirrors the other man’s gesture and he forces his T-shirt up while his lips leave Alexander’s mouth to drop light kisses on his jaw; he finally finds his favourite spot, and the torture begins.

His tongue traces the black lines of the block rune he always dreams of; his body shivers with pleasure when he feels Alexander’s strength falter, his body heavy on his, the hand on his hip leaving his warm skin to lean against the wall behind Magnus’s back to find balance.

He would have savoured his graceful neck the whole night if Alexander didn’t cup his cheek, turning his head with need, covering his lips with his again, his tongue entering his inviting mouth to steal more heated kisses.

They were too distracted to hear their phones ringing, but after minutes of the buzzing coming from Alec’s forgotten phone, alternated with the ringing of Magnus’s in his bedroom, they need to stop, their bodies not leaving each other, their hands motionless but still on their bodies.

Magnus wants to curse and bless whoever is calling them: they needed to stop, or they would have torn each other’s clothes and sought for the bed, and he doesn’t think Alec is ready yet. So he chuckles lightly when he hears Alexander’s low condemning words when he has to shift and take out the phone from his pocket. His swollen lips close firmly while he watches the name appearing on the screen.

“I have to take this.” There’s an apology in his tone and in eyes that Magnus thinks shouldn’t be there; thus, he leans in and drops a quick kiss on his lips again before escaping the beautiful cage he was in to search for his phone too.

 

***

 

Catarina and Alec’s siblings were the ones calling them to ask if everything was alright, and it was the perfect moment to update their warlock friend on their new problem.

He feels bad for pushing Magnus on that decision, but the situation seems out of control, and they surely need help.

He will never forget the sensation inside him when he saw Magnus lying on the floor, his body too weak to push itself to a standing position, as well as all the blood on his pale face, as if he was incredibly sick.

Alec’s mind is shifting between that terrible moment to those heated kisses. He feels himself blushing when he remembers that, even now, watching Magnus reading one of his books while they wait for Catarina to arrive.

After they had shared what happened, Cat said she was on her way, no matter the late hour. It was early morning, the sky still fully dark, and there were still several hours left for the sunrise to come.

Most of all, he is worried. He thought everything was alright: the wound on Magnus’s chest disappeared, and they just needed to search for a way to reverse whatever spell the Greater Demon had placed on Magnus’s magic. However, Alec discovered his magic was indeed back, and it was the one causing all the havoc whenever something happened to Magnus.

Was the fact that he was sleeping the trigger? He wasn’t when it happened the second time, he said. However, he felt like he was dreaming. What could it be, then? An emotion? An unrelated event? Magnus didn’t seem aware when his magic destroyed everything around him, so they can’t know what prompts him to lose control.

He is still thinking when they both hear the front door opening and Cat entering swiftly. Alec glances at Magnus before walking towards her, and he stills immediately when he notices the man’s face. He stopped reading the book and he is watching Caterina with a sorrowful expression.

 _Guilt_. Again. He feels guilty, and Alec wants to shake him, to tell him that he doesn’t have to feel that way, because they love him, because they are worried and they can’t think of living without him.

Alec’s body shivers, those thoughts scorching his mind. _He loves him_. Why was it so difficult to admit it again? He was so scared of thinking it, of saying it even, but now that he knows, that he is sure of his feelings, they just feel right. He’s not scared anymore.

“Well... Can I fix this?” Catarina is walking towards them from the hallway, looking at the chaos around them with a surprised expression on her face; Alec is right in front of her while Magnus is behind him in the centre of the living room.

He turns slightly to glance at Magnus and wait for his decision when he notices something is wrong. He moves, trying to reach for the other man when he sees Magnus’s eyes losing focus, the gold blurring and losing its intensity. The book falls from his hands, and his body sways dangerously.

“Magnus!” A scream escapes his throat but it’s too late: Magnus’s eyes roll back in his head and in that exact moment his magic answers.

Waves of powerful scarlet erupt from Magnus’s hands, hitting both him and Catarina. Alec raises his hands to cover his face while all the churned objects and furniture whirl forcefully around them, smashing against the walls with tremendous violence.

He hears a scream and he manages to glance at his right, his body resisting the scarlet waves. He sees Cat being hauled against the entrance door, and painfully hit the floor right after, her arm under her torso.

“Cat!” he cries, but he can’t move: it’s like walking through a blasting wind. It hinders his movements, blocking his efforts. He bends forwards, trying not to be pushed back.

He doesn’t know what caused this but one thing is clear. To stop this, he has to do one thing: reach Magnus.

He shifts, his arms still in front of his face to protect it, and he takes a step ahead, fighting against the gust of scarlet wind. He advances again, slowly, when he hears another scream: “Alec, careful!”

He clenches his jaw and he lowers his arms, and there, in front of him there’s a burning book coming his way. It’s the book Magnus was reading but it’s hard to recognize: all he sees is the blazing fire engulfing the pages with a sick, sharp sound, the flames too high and hot.

He freezes, unable to move, the wind too strong; he shuts his eyes, ready for the impact.

But nothing happens.

He frowns, opening his eyes. The flaming book has stopped in front of him, close but not enough to hurt him. He watches it, bewildered, until the force behind it loses its grip, and it falls on the floor with a loud noise. The fire loses its intensity quickly, until it extinguishes itself completely, leaving a black, torn mess behind.

That’s when Alec notices there’s no more wind around him.

He lowers his arms completely, and his eyebrows shoot up: everything is exactly like before. Crimson flames are covering every inch of the hallway and the living room, destroying the doors to the other rooms in minutes. Cat is still lying on the floor near the entrance, her ashen and scared face pointing towards his, her body still fighting the terrible wind.

He feels as if he is inside a safe bubble, nothing is touching him. He turns his head, searching for the source of everything.

Magnus is in the same place he first noticed the change. His body is slightly arched, his arms raised and his fingers spread, his red magic coming out in waves.

Alec’s determination and hope after the change around him die immediately when he sees Magnus’s face: there’s blood, too much blood on his face; rivulets are leaving his nose, heavy drops entering his mouth and escaping his lips at the same time. His chin is full of the liquid, his skin sickly pale. It’s his expression, however, that scares Alec the most: his eyes are completely scarlet, no pupil, no iris, no white, and they’re wide and fearful. Whatever Magnus is seeing, he is utterly afraid, his face in panic.

And that’s when he understands: his magic is protecting him.

“Magnus! It’s okay, we’re here!” He raises his voice, trying to reach for him, but he’s not sure the wind around Magnus is letting him. So he tries his luck and he resumes his walking, now free to move.

And when he advances again, the scarlet waves part way, shifting and going beyond him without touching his limbs. Does Magnus’s magic recognize him?

He’s not sure, yet he doesn’t stop walking, and he reaches the other man’s body in seconds.

“Magnus! It’s Alec, stop!”

His arm shoots up and his hand closes around Magnus’s right one, his fingers enclosing his, trying to block his magic.

It works: in the same sudden way everything started, the chaos ends, and the wind stops. He glimpses in the corner of his eye Magnus’s eyelids lowering and his body collapses when his magic withdraws into his body. Alec is there, however, and he steps in: his arms circles Magnus’s waist and he stops the man’s fall, pulling him close.

Magnus’s body is limp against his, his head lulling on Alec’s shoulder, his arms on his sides. Alec lowers the both of them until they are sitting on the floor.

His heart is fluttering dangerously and he fears it will escape his chest. He can’t think, he can’t even form a coherent thought, but his body seems to know what to do. Someone is breathing harshly and he eerily realizes it’s him, and not Magnus.

He’s scared; completely and absolutely scared. What if this time his magic killed him? What if he won’t wake up again? What if he lost too much blood and he’s too weak to come back?

“Cat!” It’s a strangled scream; nonetheless, he hopes Caterina hears it, because he needs her, he needs her here to heal Magnus and fix everything.

In the meanwhile, his hand leaves Magnus’s and he cups the man’s cheek, turning his head. The lower part of his face is full of blood, and his eyes are closed. He is breathing, weakly, but he is breathing, and Alec’s body starts to shake at that, adrenaline leaving his limbs, fear taking control over his actions.

Thankfully, he notices Catarina’s steps, and she’s suddenly in front of him, her face pale and still shocked. She puts a hand on Magnus’s back, and her magic appears. Alec can’t suppress a flinch in seeing it; it’s too soon. Cat’s magic, however, is calm and reassuring, and after minutes of stillness, she exhales, relieved, letting her body go and sinking completely on the floor, sitting next to them.

“He’s okay. He just needs to rest.”

Alec closes his eyes, tightening his hold on Magnus’s waist.

They need to find a solution or he’ll go crazy. He can’t relive this. He can’t lose the man he loves.


	11. Acceptance in Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It’s a promise, as well as a new resolution: those two days will be a new start."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait. I was blocked for many weeks, but here's the new chapter! Thank you so much for your comments and encouraging words.  
> The ending is coming soon. Enjoy!  
> PS: the cliffhanger is inspired by the beautiful chapter 53 (https://archiveofourown.org/works/6584047/chapters/30681228) by MuscleMemory. Go and read it! <3

_He didn’t have control over many things in his life, so he tried to tame what he could. He learned how to connect with his magic; he tried to understand how it flew and when it responded to his call; he coaxed it and talked to it, and finally he got a hold on it. He knew and understood his magic at last._

_Looking back at his life at this moment, he thinks that was the easiest part. What has been incredibly more difficult has been dealing with his emotions._

_He is used to sadness and loneliness by now. He is familiar with them and, for the most part, he knows how to handle them when they pierce his heart. Nonetheless, sometimes they overwhelm him and he can’t do anything but drown. After a while, he usually finds the strength to fight back; once, he didn’t, and he just wanted to make them stop and end his existence._

_What he absolutely can’t tame, however, is guilt._

_Guilt feels like a heavy weight on his chest, cutting all the air. It feels like his ribcage is being crushed, crumbling inside him like dust, wounding his heart with endless of tiny pieces. They hurt, fracturing his heart with all the possibilities: how he could have behaved differently; how he had the power to stop whatever was happening; how he could have been the key to change everything._

_He lost the ability to cry because of that. He couldn’t anymore. It meant he accepted that it was over, that there was nothing to fight for. Guilt doesn’t allow him to let go. It grips his chest and it freezes his mind, making him relive everything, giving him all the possibilities of different scenarios._

_The first time he realized how it worked was when he tried to find his mother’s grave. After years of living and training with the Silent Brothers, he was ready to face the world, and the first thing he did was return home to see what had happened._

_His house was abandoned and wrecked. There was nothing inside anymore, nor around it. And there was no grave._

_He remembers staying there for a night and a day, looking around him but not seeing, guilt seeping through his limbs, making them heavy._

_He felt guilty a lot during his long life, but his family’s memory is what haunts him the most. At first, he blamed himself every time he saw a mother laughing with her son; then, silence gripped him when Catarina and Ragnor talked about how their mothers were their blessing, accepting them in their lives despite their visible warlock marks; afterwards, he just learned to hide it inside him, never showing it to anybody. And it grew, it grew immensely, and it managed to shatter his chest at last._

_He always knew love would be his downfall. He craved it too much, and he felt empty without it._

_Guilt started to became dangerous at some point: there wasn’t only a heavy pressure on his heart anymore. Now he was cold too, because sadness managed to embrace it and weave through it._

_That was what he called the dark side of regret. It grips him completely, making him stop in the middle of what he is doing. It’s like a lightning, slashing in his mind, obliterating everything else._

_And he starts to wonder._

_Why does no one ever feel guilty for him? There is no one,_ no one _out there, who blames themselves for the grief he feels because of their words and actions. No one who comes back asking for his forgiveness, telling him they miss him, that they were wrong. No one who just demands and insists on never letting go of him, because he is too important, and they were stupid at the time._

_He felt guilty when friends abandoned him to continue living their lives; he feels guilty when they die and he doesn’t; he feels guilty when relationships end because of him: he is lacking, and it is inevitable._

_And in 400 years, he never noticed someone burden themselves for his sake._

 

***

 

He stares at the ceiling, unseeing.

His waking mind is lost in the echoes of the nightmare, his thoughts mingled and confused like his emotions. He tries to discern them at first, but it’s difficult: it feels like a thick fog has taken control of his mind, making it impossible to grasp the shades of colours invading his consciousness, to separate all the feelings that are savaging his heart. Some of them, however, seem to pour out of his soul easily, dominating the others and his mental daze, clenching his heart and crushing it ruthlessly: sadness and regret.

There is a faint ringing in his ears. He knows he’s lying on something comfortable and warm, but he is too disoriented to recognize where he is or whether he is still dreaming or not.

His body is heavy, his head pounding relentlessly. He can’t even bring himself to blink, so he keeps on staring straight ahead.

He sees the same ceiling; a stainless, brilliant ceiling. His eyes roam intently, absorbing everything they can. The ceiling mirrors his dazed mind: it’s an infinite stream of silver, always in movement, always chasing something invisible and impossible. Wakes of hue graze the main colour: a dust of white, when he feels positive and powerful; a mist of ash, when sadness and loneliness overwhelm him. And all around, all inside, tiny, luminous stars. Some of them flicker for a moment, their lives faltering, and then they die, their glow disappearing remorsefully. Others persist, enduring the darkness, their light trembling sometimes to come back more intense than before.

Tiny, brilliant stars, like the endless dreams he has, some of them dying without coming true, others fulfilled with sacrifice and fatigue. Small, glittery rays, like his eternal hope, the one he is so sure he lost, but that keeps on returning in different moments and forms: a light touch, a pair of hazel eyes.

Suddenly, something catches his attention and the silver vision in front of him shatters. He feels a dip on his left and then, a warm sensation on that side of his body.

“Hi.”

It’s a whisper, a faint sound, but he perceives it all: the intensity behind the word, his tone soothing and tender at the same time; the gentleness in his hushed delivery, as if he doesn’t want to startle Magnus; the hope behind a simple greeting that promises a beautiful awakening next to the person he chose for himself. Yet, he notices a hint of caution.

And that is when Magnus realizes the ringing in his ears is gone, replaced by a deafening silence.

Alexander is lying next to him.

A dreadful stillness captures him and, all of a sudden, he can’t move. Invisible restraints are enveloping his limbs, cold and heavy. The only thing that is moving is his frantic heart, its beating too rapid and difficult. His mind is ravaged by quick nightmares: images of what happened before – _when?_ – he woke up, of fear and weakness, of guilt and destruction.

He closes his eyes, trying to erase those visions, and for a moment it works, darkness devouring every gesture, every feeling, every doubt.

He senses another shift and this time he feels warm fingers caressing his cold and tense left hand, abandoned on what he now knows is a bed. It’s a fleeting touch; immediately after, a hand enfolds his, and those same fingers trace his skin, finding the lines of his palm again and again.

Magnus’s body shudders once, and then relaxes, the restraints disappearing as abruptly as they came. His tired mind focuses on that physical contact: it’s a reassuring touch, a declaration of faith, a statement of love. Because his hands are the main conductor of his magic, the source of the havoc he can cause, the symbol of his downfall; yet, when he finally opens his eyes again, and slightly turns his head to his left, all that he sees in the clear hazel of Alexander’s eyes is sincere resolution. There is no fear, no judgment, no accusation, no blame. For the first time, his tricky mind doesn’t alter what those eyes and the loving, regular caresses on his hand are trying to tell him: that he is not alone anymore, that his life is different now, that no matter what, there is someone who loves him and is ready to face everything, _anything_ , for him.

Something fractures inside him: his heart contracts painfully, his throat closes dangerously.

So he lets go.

He forces his heavy limbs to move: the despair to shorten the small distance between their bodies makes his action fast and unexpected; he knows it from the way Alexander absorbs his weight with a small sound of surprise, from the way his steady brushes stop all at once, his fingers losing contact with the palm of his hand. Magnus buries his face in the curve of the other man’s neck; his right arm slips under Alexander’s left side, the other encircles his waist; his fingers finally find the Shadowhunter’s back, and they firmly grasp his T-shirt, locking their embrace.

He savours the way their bodies fit so well, how their chests come in full contact and their legs get entangled so naturally, how Alexander’s arms, after the initial surprise, surround his torso, one hand finding his back and starting to draw soothing circles right after; the other, cupping his neck, and then sinking into his hair.

The silence is not deafening anymore: there is no threat, no revulsion, no fear of losing everything. His mind is clear, tired, but calm, because he finally understands: nothing will ever alter what he feels for Alexander, not the destruction caused by his magic, not his insecurities, not any circumstances. He knows, he _knows_ , he should have understood that before; perhaps he wasn’t ready. Perhaps all those years of hoping and waiting, of rejection and loneliness, have been too much for his broken heart, and he just needed more time to realize what he was actually longing for.

Alexander.

He remembers now, as if he’s there all over again, reliving all those special moments between them: the encouraging words, the small gestures, the delicate touches, the trusting and loving stares. He tightens his hold on Alexander’s body, his fingers clawing his T-shirt while he stares at the pillow in front of him and his lips brush the other man’s collarbone.

He can’t control Alexander’s feelings. He can’t force him to feel something more for Magnus, nor does he want to. What he finally realizes, however, is the depth of what _he_ , himself, feels. He can’t deny what the Shadowhunter’s constant presence means in his life anymore; how his heart keeps on regenerating whenever Alexander is next to him, supporting him like in this moment, no matter what, no matter their enemies. He can’t deny how his soul soars, his mind quietens, his body relaxes.

He can’t deny his love.

Thus, he relishes the way Alexander’s thumb is brushing his back, or how the fingers of his other hand continue caressing his hair and neck, making his limbs shiver slightly. Minutes pass – maybe hours, he doesn’t know – but little by little, moment after moment, his courage makes its way into his soul, and he finally lets go of his fear.

“I love you,” he murmurs against Alexander’s neck, his lips touching the man’s skin while sharing his deepest and strongest feeling.

He can’t hide it anymore; he refuses to hide it. Alexander has the right to know, and Magnus owes it to himself to finally say it out loud, to shout it to the world, to acknowledge how destiny made it happen, forcing him to lose his magic to find the love of his life.

And, for once, he is not frightened of Alexander’s answer, or lack thereof.

He can’t help but notice the other man’s reaction: his sharp inhale at hearing those three words; the way his body stiffens suddenly; how his blissful caresses halt in midair, as if time itself has abruptly stopped.

Everything lasts just for a moment and the surprise is replaced by tenderness.

Magnus feels Alexander’s fingers on his body: one hand finds the shirt on his back, the other grips is neck while his arms encircle him in a fierce embrace, as if he wants to crash their bodies together, making them one.

“I love you too.”

It’s a whisper against his temple, Alexander’s voice trembling, his words and tone giving Magnus everything he ever needed. He closes his eyes, lost in another shudder. He turns his head, resting his cheek on the man’s shoulder.

He doesn’t know what will happen to him, what his magic will cause; yet, he knows one thing for sure: he won’t lose Alexander.

 

***

 

He feels lighter; it’s like a burden has been lifted from his shoulders, and his heart is finally free and not pounding with fear or anxiety. He doesn’t know whether it is because he is honest with himself at last, about his feelings and his condition, or because he’s fully aware of Alexander’s feelings.

He looks out of the windows that are in front of him while sitting on the edge of the bed; his gaze is lost in the deep colours of the night. A day has passed since he lost control of his magic and everything has shifted under his feet once again.

He can hear Alec and Cat moving in the other room, talking quietly, but he can’t grasp their words. He showered quickly after waking up with Alexander next to him, and he ate something to please Catarina, who had looked at him with worry. They didn’t talk about what happened: they were waiting for him to be ready.

Magnus lets out a sigh. He will manage somehow, even more now that he completely understands what he could lose: love.

There is a noise behind him and he catches a movement in the corner of his eye. He slightly turns his head and Alexander’s tall form comes into view. Magnus watches him reach the bed and then stop in front of him: his eyes are tender and honest. The new, more beautiful view Magnus is graced with makes him smile; he’ll never be tired of wondering how he managed to meet someone this wonderful.

“Hey,” he greets, and that seems to encourage Alexander, who smiles back and slowly crouches in front of him and the bed, one hand reaching and resting on his right knee.

That’s when he notices the way the other man is careful with his movements, as if he doesn’t want to startle Magnus. And that is also when he hears another soft noise, and suddenly Cat is in the room with them.

He knows what that means.

His eyes follow her approach, until she is smiling down at them and decides to sit on the edge of the bed next to him, facing Alexander too. Magnus lets his left hand rest on the bed cover while the other finds Alexander’s fingers on his knee. He takes his hand in his, resting them on his own thigh; he hopes it will convince the other man that he’s ready and that they don’t have to worry.

“I’m sorry. For everything”. He knows they won’t accept his apology, that they will tell him it wasn’t his fault, but he still needs to say it.

Cat playfully bumps her shoulder with his, looking at him fondly. “We know. It’s okay.”

Magnus releases the breath he was holding without knowing; he feels Alexander’s hand squeezing his in a reassuring way, and he smiles again when he meets the peaceful hazel in his eyes.

“I have news.”

He gets distracted by Cat declaration; his attention snaps back to her and he frowns, confused.

“Apparently the Greater Demon who attacked you used a spell to steal your magic.” Cat turns her body towards them, sitting fully on the bed; her gaze touches Magnus and Alexander in turn. “I guess he was interested in _your_ power.” She raises her eyebrows looking pointedly at Magnus and he suddenly understands: the Greater Demon had been interested in the power he inherited from his father. He nods, knowing he’ll have to explain that to Alexander later, somehow.

“Anyway, once the Demon died without completing it, the spell broke, so you’re free of its curse. You should get better with time, and you should also manage to control your magic like you used to,” she continues, and this time she shares a knowing look with Alec before her focus turns back to him. “But that will happen only if you take care of yourself, both physically _and_ emotionally.”

Magnus’s back straightens when he hears her emphasis; he looks at her, and then at the concern covering the warmth in Alexander’s eyes. They are worried. Worried that the sadness, guilt and negativity he feels will prevent his healing; that he will get worse, and there will be nothing they can do to stop it.

“I understand.” He tries to reinforce his tone with certainty and steadiness while he keeps on shifting his attention between them.

The only thing he can do is try to reassure them. He has to make it; he _will_ make it. He can’t lose what he finally found, and if that means facing his inner demons and fears, so be it. He will do it for himself, for Alexander, for Catarina and for those who loved him and will love him in the future.

“Maybe... We can go away for a while?” There’s hope in Alexander’s voice and something else, hidden, that Magnus can’t quite catch. He frowns looking at him; he tightens the hold on their entwined fingers to show him that he’s listening and there’s nothing he can’t say.

“What do you mean?” he asks when he senses the other man’s hesitation; he notices Cat’s expression too, a mix of encouragement and anticipation. It’s really important for Alexander then; maybe for the both of them.

“Well...” Magnus waits while Alexander tries to find the words; he observes how he shifts towards him, putting his other hand on his knee, anchoring him. Yes, it’s really important. “We could disappear from everything and everyone for one or two days. Just you and me. To relax, to... talk.”

Magnus watches nervousness steal Alexander’s determination, reminding him of their first meeting, when they weren’t sure of each other yet, and they didn’t know how to behave or what do with those beautiful but scary feelings both of them were experiencing. He knows why. Alexander is nervous because of him: he doesn’t want him to feel guilty about going away and leave everything behind, his Shadowhunter’s duties first, nor does he want to force him into accepting. Nonetheless, Magnus realizes, Alexander _wants_ to go. Perhaps he needs it as well.

“Yes. Yes, two days away from everything seems... a good way to start to get better.” He grasps Alexander’s right hand resting on his knee, noticing how the other man relaxes visibly when he hears his answer.

“Thank you,” he continues, and he wants to say more, to pour out all of his feelings and the thoughts he has on their relationship, to show him how important he is, but now he has two days to do it, to behave accordingly and to prove to Alexander that he finally feels like the luckiest person in the world. For the moment, he settles for acceptance: he draws Alexander’s fingers nearer, and he brushes his lips on the back of his right hand. It’s a soft and delicate pressure that causes goosebumps on Alexander’s arm and a touch of redness on his cheeks. How he missed that and the surprised yet loving expression on his face.

It’s a promise, as well as a new resolution: those two days will be a new start.


	12. Healing in Emerald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For once, Magnus is peaceful. He knows everything will be like his last nightmare now: he will walk a thin line between light and darkness, one step leading him to happiness and love, the other making him cause destruction and pain. Although he’s nervous about the future, he’s not scared anymore.
> 
> He knows which path he needs to choose, anyway."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this. It's over! I hope you enjoyed it!

“This one is for low energy.” Catarina shakes the small crystal phial in her hand, the light blue liquor inside dancing because of the movement.

Alec tilts his head, watching the object with interest. Cat puts it aside on the table, and turns to carefully capture another phial with her hands. The liquor inside this time is a clear emerald, shimmering with green and turquoise shades in the lights of Magnus’s restored living room.

“Use this only if he loses control again.” Cat’s eyes are solemn, her gaze capturing his attention and never wavering. “He will get sicker if it happens, so be ready. Call me immediately if something goes wrong.” Her fingers encircle his right wrist, guiding his hand up. She delicately puts the second, small phial on his palm. “Immediately. Okay?” Her gaze never leaves his, even when her other hand closes his fingers over the crystal bottle, squeezing lightly.

He shifts his focus for a moment, catching the emerald waving peacefully inside the phial. He knows what she means. They can’t risk Magnus losing control once more, or at least not so soon, not after yesterday. He would lose too much energy, too much blood. Thus, Alec nods, and raises his eyes once again to meet Cat’s dark ones. “I understand.”

Another light pressure of her fingers, and she leaves him alone in the room with the two magical potions, a bag full of clothes and other useful objects for their two-day vacation. That’s what he calls it now, although at first he just wanted to take Magnus somewhere remote, away from problems, guilt and sadness. When he suggested it to Cat, she said it was a good idea, and the more he thinks about it, the more he understands how important these two days can be. They may be the key to learn more secrets about Magnus: whether there are things that trigger his negative moods or memories he wants to forget. What he is sure of, however, is that they need to talk. He actually feels that _Magnus_ needs to talk, to speak with him about everything and anything, to finally let it out. It has to happen and that’s the main goal of this “vacation”.

Alec tightens his hold on the small phial, as if it has the power to guide him and make everything alright again for Magnus. Power or not, he knows he can do it. So he takes a step to his right and firmly grasps the first phial, its light blue liquor still peaceful and promising. He then turns toward the sofa and he looks at the open bag full of objects resting on the sofa. He has everything he needs now, he just has to wake Magnus up and they will be ready to go. The idea of disturbing Magnus’s sleep upsets him, but there is nothing he can do about it: they have to go. They’ll rest together, away from everyone.

He lets out an encouraging sigh, trying to dissolve the concern clawing his heart. He slowly walks to the sofa, lost in his thoughts. He stops right in front of his bag, ready to put the two potions in it. He opens his hands and his gaze catches the brilliance of the liquids once more. Both phials are small and delicate; they seem innocent but peculiar items, yet he knows they could save Magnus’s life somehow. Their colours are mesmerizing: the light blue reminds him of a happy memory, of the peacefulness and calmness of a vast and alluring sea, of the endless sky and its possibilities; the emerald seems to whisper promises of a new beginning, of healing and hope, of the natural way people stand up again after they fall. They are such ordinary objects in his Shadow World, nonetheless, when he looks at them, he sees in his mind all the possibilities his future holds: live a new life without hiding, without concentrating only on his work and what others expect of him; be proud of who he is by standing next to the person he chose for himself. To make that happen, however, he needs to do everything he can and he will start by helping that same person to solve whatever is troubling him. He has to. For both of their sakes.

When he puts the two phials inside the bag he feels confident and tenacious, maybe for the first time in his life. He longs for the future he imagines every second he’s awake, every minute he thinks of Magnus, every time he realizes how his life has changed since they met; and to do that, his purpose is clear: he won’t let anything happen to Magnus. Never again.

He straightens once more and glances toward Magnus’s bedroom. The door is still closed but he remembers. He will never forget what happened hours before, how that moment has shifted everything again. Magnus said he loves him. He closes his eyes while his body shudders helplessly. He recalls every detail of it. The colours surrounding them: the red of the blanket and pillows; the black of the shadows engulfing them; the dark blue of the night entering from the windows; the feverish gold of Magnus’s eyes before their embrace. He recalls the feelings invading his thoughts: the constant worry in his movements, in his mind and his voice both when he was away and near Magnus; the dreadful anxiety when thinking whether something bad will happen again; the panic at the mere possibility of a life without Magnus; the forceful anger while realizing that it’s not fair, that they shouldn’t face such a burden, such pain, not when he finally found a person he can love without fear and no restrains; not when he thinks he found his soulmate; the overwhelming sadness when he saw how tired and spent Magnus was, how alone and vulnerable he seemed while lying on his bed.

Although Alec’s heart was cracking dangerously, his mind told him to stand firm, because he felt other things: hope in seeing Magnus alive and just tired, not lost or in pain; courage to fight for what he wants, and that includes a future with Magnus; confidence in what he can do to improve the situation, like never letting go, never denying his love. He was ready, so ready, to tell Magnus everything, to finally let him know that yes, he had been scared at first, since the love he feels with such intensity after so little time had shifted the ground he was walking on, but he didn’t care anymore, because he loved him, and he was ready to have a future together. Magnus made the first move, however, something he hadn’t even considered, something he couldn’t have even imagined. Yet it happened. And it will be forever one of the happiest moments of his life. Learning that someone loves you, no matter what, is such a powerful knowledge. And he will never take it for granted.

He will show Magnus, day by day, moment after moment, that what they feel is right and precious, that they can overcome everything and anything.

With that in mind, Alec reaches the door of the bedroom. One light pressure on the handle and he slowly opens the door.

The first thing his sight catches is the light: the curtains are drawn far away, tucked at the corners of the windows. The sunshine is streaming from them, touching everything in the room and brightening every hue, even the red, empty bed. Alec raises his eyebrows, stepping quickly into the room. He stops and Magnus is right in front of him, buttoning up his blue shirt while looking at him with a small, shy smile.

Will his beauty ever cease to amaze Alec? He doesn’t know, and he hopes not. He loves being surprised. Even more, he feels his soul soar when he realizes that the vulnerability and sadness around Magnus seem gone, or maybe hidden somewhere in his heart. Alec will find them and ease them, the goal he set for the both of them never leaving his mind.

“Are you ready?” he asks when Magnus halts near him. He could shorten the distance further if only he wanted to, but he indulges himself, lost in the fascinating gold of the other man’s eyes that reminds him so much of the bright sunshine enveloping them.

“Yes.”

It’s a simple and short answer, yet he hears everything he wanted: the trust in Alec’s suggestion; the same hope he feels about the following two days; the happiness after their confession.

Alec smiles fully, his heart warm. He doesn’t resist the pull anymore and he shortens the distance between them. His fingers find the back of Magnus’s neck, and they bury themselves in his silky hair. He feels Magnus’s hand on his chest, their bodies leaning toward each other, as if they missed one another too.

He wants to say many things; to reassure him that everything will be alright and they’ll find a way. But he can’t find the words and he doesn’t want to ruin the moment, so he tries to convey everything he feels with his embrace and gestures. He leans in and his lips find Magnus’s forehead, cold and pale because of the other night. He steals a light kiss, savouring the way the other man’s body relaxes more onto him, sharing his love and strength.

“Let’s go then.”

 

***

 

He tries to suppress a shudder when the portal manifests in front of them, Catarina’s magic swirling effortlessly through the air to create a passage in space. For the first time since he accepted Alexander’s suggestion, he realizes something could indeed go wrong: what if he loses control again and Alexander gets hurt? What if he shows that ugly side of himself he tried so much to hide and suppress? He knows he shouldn’t feel doubtful, not now, but those thoughts seem stronger than his will, and they flash into his mind, scattering his positive thoughts.

But he promised he will try, and that he will make it.

Thus, he just nods when Alexander turns towards him, the expression on his face and eyes asking him if everything is alright or if he changed his mind. Reassured, he faces the portal once again, and Magnus’s gaze follows his back until it disappears inside the twirls of the magical opening.

He gathers his courage and takes one, two steps ahead before stopping. He then turns to Cat, who watches him with a knowing look.

“Everything will be alright. Stop overthinking,” she says, her tone firm while she approaches him.

He sighs, glancing at the portal now behind is back. “I’ll try, I promise.”

He catches a fast movement in the corner of his eye, and Cat is suddenly in front of him, her hand in mid-air. Her fingers are grasping a small bag.

“I found it. Don’t you dare change your mind about it.”

He smiles fondly at her words, and he grasps the tiny bag in his hands. “I won’t,” he reassures while he hides the object in the inside pocket of his coat, hoping it will hide it from Alexander’s sharp stare. “Thank you,” he adds before turning and finally stepping into the portal. The last thing he sees is the soft expression on Cat’s face.

 

When he emerges on the other side, he’s surrounded by the soft light of a newborn twilight. He sees nature all around him: trees adorning a long path he can’t glimpse the end of; a mild and large lake in front of him, whispering of peace and solitude; a clear sky greeting him with hues of yellow, red and blue. Not far, on his left, facing the waters, he spots a small cottage; it seems modern enough to include all the comfort one could need, but not too peculiar to ruin the natural beauty nearby.

Alexander is waiting for him near its entrance, his face turned to the lake and the mountains peaking in the distance, as if lost in his thoughts. He detects him approaching immediately, however, and he shifts his body towards his. Magnus halts before him, his fingers finding Alexander’s hand and clasping it. Cat said she had the perfect place to share with them, but he didn’t think it would be this halcyon.

He loves it.

 

***

 

Time flies during the evening: they enter the cottage and discover every angle of it; they go out once again to walk around it and touch the fresh and cool water of the lake; they return inside to prepare something to eat after they found out the kitchen was stored and full of delicious ingredients.

Magnus feels like a different being, as if he was suddenly cut from his normal life and has been placed into a temporary heaven with the person he loves the most. He is aware that he is forgetting important things awaiting him in their real lives; he knows he should worry about everything, both in the present and in their future; nonetheless, when he stands in the kitchen, shoulder to shoulder with a radiant and happy Alexander, cooking together, talking about things they like and others they hate, he decides that for now, for those two days, he will silence that worried, negative part of his mind, and focus on whatever and whoever pleases him.

Thus, he smiles, laughs and makes funny faces when he discovers new, hidden aspects of Alexander’s past and personality; he pays attention to everything the other man is sharing so that he knows what kind of surprises Alexander would like in their future together.

They eat and clean; they shower in turn, although with regretful glances to each other, but Magnus feels tired already, and even though he would have loved to play and flagrantly flirt with Alexander, he prefers sitting on the comfortable couch in the cozy living room, waiting to go to bed and spend a carefree and regenerating day afterwards. He doesn’t stay alone for long; Alexander joins him after a moment, and they talk of anything that comes to their minds.

They both avoid speaking of his magic and his weakness, or their future and love. Magnus longs and dreads that moment at the same time, and he doesn’t even know why. There’s nothing to hide nor to be ashamed of; in spite of that, it seems like a buried part of him is still locked on his old habits: he waits for an inevitable disaster and the destruction of his dreams.

He avoids serious subjects then, pushing back the inevitable: they have another day and a half to enjoy, and he’s sure the right moment will come and they will sense it. For now, he will enjoy their serene vacation and live in the moment, and hopefully, he won’t regret that decision.

 

***

 

_He is on a bridge and he lost his way._

_He’s confused and disoriented, yet he feels like he knows this place; something, however, has changed._

_There are two ways: one in front of him, one behind him. He twirls around, frantically, as if he suddenly has no balance anymore, as if the world is upside down and he can’t stop the instability all around him. He finally halts in between, facing the thick greyness surrounding the bridge. It resembles an immense ward, a barrier blocking him in that place and cutting off all his thoughts and sense of direction._

_From what he glimpsed, the two ways are completely different. He slightly turns to the one that was in front of him: it blinds his eyes with ferocious ardor and he feels even more adrift. He raises his right arm, his fingers sprawling in front of his face to shield his eyes. He’s lost in the sensations that way emanates: the light is warm; it promises mild caresses during the delightful sunshine and alluring starlight. At the same time, he is certain he has never walked that path. Its novelty frightens him: what if he can’t make it? What if he will lose his way before reaching the safety of the light? What if the light will burn him in the end, and it will all be for nothing? He is afraid. Afraid of the way that route seems new, scary, demanding and exhausting, binding and restraining. Nonetheless, sometimes his dazed eyes seem to catch something hidden behind that vivid glow; something he searched for a long time; something he thought he lost._

_He is not sure, so he glances towards the other path. When he notices there is no light to blind him he shifts his body, putting the glow behind him. In front of him there is literally_ nothing _. Or at least, nothing he can see. The bridge disappears completely before him, eaten away by the darkness; everything is black: there is no pavement, no sky, no outline. Still, he feels something moving in the depth of that emptiness, hissing unintelligible words, inviting him in the neverending safety of the shadows._

_He takes an involuntary step back, his heart suddenly beating too fast, his mind overwhelmed by chaotic thoughts. The second way is similar yet completely different than the first one: it’s terribly cold, and his limbs can already feel the frost coming near him. It’s frightening too, because what is there is too powerful and it will drag him to a horrid oblivion, painful and forsaken. If he goes that way, he will never go back; perhaps he will stop existing altogether, his mind consumed by black emptiness. Would it be so bad? Wouldn’t it be better if he would stop being? Maybe it’s the relief he’s searching for._

_He doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand. Both ways terrify him; the first one is intimidating and he is not brave nor good enough to walk towards it; the second one terrorizes him and he can sense the panic drowning him, slashing through his soul and seizing his heart._

_What should he do?_

_He needs to decide quickly. There is no time, it’s almost over. He has to. Now. Or he will lose it. Fast. Immediately. What way?_

_But it’s too late._

_The bridge cracks dangerously, a thunderous sound howling in the greyness. The concrete beneath him disappears all of a sudden. He is falling. The two paths disappear from his shocked eyes and he falls mercilessly, the wind slashing through his skin, dampening all the sounds but his screams, tearing at his clothes. The ruthless gust is pushing him, down and down, crashing into him with its invisible fingers, rushing to reach the hard ground where his body will smash, shattering painfully. But before that he has to suffer more,_ more _, because the blast of air wants to make him cry louder, so it seeps through his skin, reaching his heart, its claws clenching his heart. They start to crush it, slowly, agonizingly._

_They’re almost there, he can feel the ground drawing near and he is not ready for the impact, not yet, please–_

 

He abruptly wakes up, a terrified scream tearing from his throat.

The first thing he realizes is that he’s not falling anymore. He’s safe on his bed, half lying, half sitting, as if he wants to dart out but he doesn’t have the strength to move. Actually, he can’t control his limbs at all; he’s shivering and trembling, a sharp cold freezing his body. Beads of sweat are marring his temple, and he wants to wipe them away in frustration, even more when he feels one drop slide down his jaw.

He wants to, but he can’t. His mind is blank, his thoughts scattered, his energy drained. He can only blink rapidly, trying to see the colours around him, any colour, so that he can forget the greyness of the nightmare, so that he can erase the frightening sensation of the black path.

It takes several minutes, but in the end the numbness leaves his icy limbs, slowly and painfully. And he finally feels something new: a hand on his back, caressing it carefully and gently. It’s a soothing gesture, and he craves for more, he _needs_ more.

So he turns his head and his gaze meets Alexander’s concerned one, his hazel eyes the only brilliance in the room.

He doesn’t resist the man’s delicate pressure on his back, and he finds himself enfolded in a fierce embrace, Alexander’s arms sliding on his torso, his fingers massaging the back of his neck.

He longs for this every minute he’s awake. He loves the way he’s surrounded by Alexander’s presence, the way their bodies adapt to each other, the rhythm of their hearts beating in unison. His body reacts at last, and he manages to rest his cheek on the other man’s shoulder; his hands, in the meanwhile, find Alec’s waist, and he hopes his warmth will erase all the remnants of the cold.

They stay like that for some time, savouring each other’s proximity, afraid that something will happen again that may break them apart. Then, Alexander lowers them on the bed once again, and he feels the blanket covering them; they lie as one, their bodies leaving no space between them, their breaths matching one another.

Magnus’s shuddering halts too; he sighs in relief and tightens his old on his lover when he feels a kiss on his hair. He closes his eyes, weariness replacing his scare, and in the protection of Alexander’s arms, he goes back to sleep, sure no nightmare will come back to haunt him as long as he’s with the person he loves.

 

***

 

He didn’t want to wake Alexander up, but he couldn’t go back to sleep when he woke up once again. Thus, he left the bed, silently; he grabbed the tiny bag Catarina had given him, and went out on the terrace, another blanket warming his shoulders.

He stays there for a while, waiting for the sunrise.

And it finally comes.

The sky is blue, yet it doesn’t remind him of the deep sapphire of the night. It’s a delicate and light blue, one that welcomes the brightness of the sun, one that is ready to turn into azure, one that hints of a beautiful and pleasant day. The same colour is reflected on the serene waves of the lake, its emerald water darker and more mysterious.

The lake is like his magic: black and deep in some parts, places he can’t understand yet and that he can’t attain; a rich green and light blue in others, the ones he knows and is familiar with the most, the ones he recognizes.

Knowing that he didn’t lose control during his nightmare comforts him; somehow, he managed to keep a tight rein on his magic, maybe because Alexander was there next to him, maybe because he’s so empty there’s nothing to call.

He slightly startles when a hot cup of tea appears right in front of him. He looks up, and a smiling Alexander appears next to him. He sits beside him on the terrace, a second cup of tea held with his other hand. Magnus smiles back gratefully and he captures the smoking cup, leaving the bag on his lap. He takes a careful slip while the other man snuggles against him, his blanket forgotten on his long legs.

They don’t say anything at first; they follow the spectacle of the sunrise, the colours blazing with different shades, the sun appearing and growing in size as the minutes pass.

For once, Magnus is peaceful. He knows everything will be like his last nightmare now: he will walk a thin line between light and darkness, one step leading him to happiness and love, the other making him cause destruction and pain. Although he’s nervous about the future, he’s not scared anymore.

He knows which path he needs to choose, anyway.

He masters the courage in the end; he shifts the half empty cup of tea in his left hand and his right hand grasps the small bag resting on his thighs. He doesn’t say anything; he wouldn’t know what words to use because none can express what he feels; he hopes Alexander will understand in some way. He raises his arm, and he offers the object to Alexander, his golden eyes following everything.

He notices how the other mans’ eyebrows lift on his forehead, surprise changing his calm expression. He meets the intense hazel, a question in those beautiful eyes, but Magnus just smiles back, his arm still extended, his fingers still clutching the bag.

After a moment of hesitation, Alexander finally sets his cup aside, and gingerly takes the gift, watching it and observing it as if it holds a great secret.

Somehow, Alexander knows he’s choosing.

When his fingers disappear inside and clutch something, Magnus’s heartbeat increases; he can hear the thudding of his heart, loud and too fast. He holds his breath and Alexander finally takes out his hand, a red and gold omamori appearing between his fingers.

It may be too simple, it may be too naïve; still, he asked Catarina to buy it for a reason: Magnus will never hurt Alexander because he’ll always cherish their love; and he’s sure Alexander will never hurt him either, and he will do anything to protect him, their relationship and their future.

It’s a promise, it’s a commitment, it’s a pledge, even if it’s a tiny object, even if it’s just a symbol.

He’s searching for the right words to explain that since Alexander seems deep in his thoughts, his fingers absently stroking the soft material, his gaze lost in the red and gold hues. But he doesn’t need to, because right after there’s a movement, and Alexander’s eyes meet his, a sparkle inside the green that wasn’t there before, excitement in the brown for their future.

Yes, he knows he made his choice.

And Magnus chose Alexander.


End file.
